Stand By Me
by Jo2
Summary: Joe's in trouble. It's Mac and Methos, along with Joe's daughter Amy, to help him.
1. Stand By Me

STAND BY ME  
  
By JoLayne  
  
EMAIL: EnyaJo@aol.com  
  
RATING: G with a few cuss words, nothing jarring  
  
CHARACTERS: Duncan, Methos, Joe, Amy, a few made up ones to tell the  
story  
  
CLASSIFICATION: Action  
  
SUMMARY: Response to the "Brave words from a dying, senile old man"  
challenge on HLGenFic.   
  
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction. Highlander characters you  
recognize belong to Panzer/Davis. No profit to be gained from the  
writing of this story.  
  
===========  
BLUES BAR  
SEACOUVER  
===========  
  
MacLeod and Methos were sitting in a dark, dusty bar, nothing new.  
They took turns buying rounds and argued if it was in fact Mac's sweater  
that Methos was wearing as they nursed a scotch on the rocks and a  
glass of wine. The only thing that made this night different for them  
than any other night was that it was the debut of a new musical act on  
stage. Joe Dawson's Blues Band.   
  
Since Joe retired from the watchers, he returned to his first love, music.  
The blues. As Mac and Methos watched him expertly manipulate that  
guitar, accomplishing noises ranging from screeching anger to solemn  
cries depending on the song, they were entranced.  
  
It seemed that Joe was so into each of his songs, expended so much  
energy to set the mood of each piece, he had to towel off his forehead  
and neck between each number. He made a little joke that the lights  
were a little too hot, "Either that or I'm having hot flashes." The twenty or  
so in the audience urged him to start another song.  
  
After catching the eyes of Mac and Methos at the table just off to the  
side of center stage, Joe announced, "This next one is for two of my best  
friends in the world, Mac and Adam."  
  
They held up their glasses to him as Joe settled back onto the stool in  
front of the mic. Joe produced the opening strains of "Stand By Me" on  
his guitar and the audience immediately started a soft, encouraging  
clap.  
  
"When the night..." Joe began, but realized he couldn't focus his eyes  
when he opened them after the opening guitar lick.  
  
"Has come..." The audience sang along with Joe and his band.  
  
"And the land is dark," the was a tightness that start in Joe's fingertips of  
his left hand.  
  
But he moved on, "And the moon..."  
  
Joe's fingers could no longer make the chords on the neck of his guitar.  
There was a tingling sensation, as if he was being electrocuted.  
  
"Is the only..."  
  
The guitar neck slipped out of his left hand. Joe's arm involuntarily  
spasmed and closed up to his body. A piercing spasm washed up and  
down his arm. A tightness choked hold of his chest. If the guitar wasn't  
strapped around his neck, it would have slipped to the floor.  
  
Joe slumped forward, head smashing against the mic and landed in a  
heap on the stage, then rolled off the edge. Mac jumped off his chair  
and stopped Joe's momentum. Methos stood and knocked over their  
table making the glasses and glass enclosed candle break when hitting  
the hard wood floor. A guy sitting at the next table stamped out the fire  
that erupted when the flame mixed with the spilled alcohol.  
  
MacLeod bent over his old friend," What is it?" The doctor in Methos  
kicked in and kneeled over him, loosened Joe's shirt and checked his  
pulse. MacLeod asked again, "What is it?"  
  
"Joe is having a heart attack," Methos told him, then yelled to the  
converging, concerned crowd, "Call 911!"  
  
Joe tried to focus on the ceiling or the heads of his friends, the faces of  
his band members who appeared above Methos' head. This can't be  
happening! Joe groaned, could hardly breath. My life is just  
beginning! Then it all went black.  
  
=================  
TWO WEEKS LATER  
=================  
  
Joe found himself sitting in a wheelchair looking out on the gardens of  
the Peaceful Rest Nursing Home. "Damn," he cried out to a nurse  
pushing another patient toward him. "Can you at least give me my  
damn legs?"  
  
The nurse bent to set the brake on the wheelchair of Joe's roommate,  
Gerald Nedemeier, lost cause, and said, "Mr. Dawson, it's been decided  
by your doctors that walking would put too much stress on your heart."  
  
"I don't need to walk on them," he pointed at his stumps, covered with a  
yellow eyelet blanket. Would his dignity ever be restored? "I just want  
them."  
  
"Take it up with the doctor on his next visit," the nurse said while  
walking away.  
  
Joe asked, "When will that be?"  
  
"Next Monday," she said over her shoulder, heading back to the  
building.  
  
Monday... it seemed like a lifetime away. Joe looked at Gerald.  
Eighty-one years old, a watcher for over 60 years. At one time, had quite  
the rep in the system. Solid, loyal, diligent, somewhat jaded, smart, able  
to amuse himself during the down times of a stakeout, not afraid to put  
pen to paper to chronicle every deed his immortal did. Gerald had all the  
qualities that made up a good watcher. Before Joe ended up his roomie  
at Peaceful Rest, it had been almost 30 years since he saw the man, when  
Joe was just entering the fold. Gerald had been fit, athletic, took chances  
that could only be blamed on stupid courage.   
  
There he was, stooped over, an oxygen hose in his nose, wrinkled, in and  
out of lucidity, drooling. Old Gerald was like he had molted, his youth  
gone, only the shell was left, and it had been run over by a truck one too  
many times.  
  
Joe had felt that buzzing in his ears for too long. Was there a pesky fly  
around? He swatted the air. No, it had to be coming from him. He  
thought he had been regaining his strength since his transfer from the  
hospital to the nursing home after the heart attack, but on that bright,  
sunny, breeze-free day, he just felt tired.  
  
======================  
METHOS' BROWNSTONE  
======================  
  
Methos was stretched out on his couch watching Citizen Kane on a  
classics movie channel. After all these years, he could finally find out  
what the hell Rosebud was. In the movie, the reporter walked into the  
basement of Xanadu, stuffed with priceless artifacts that Kane had  
collected. Methos thought the man should have simplified. There was  
no use having all that stuff in a basement. Stuff only tied you down. He  
felt the tightening of his chest, the rumble in his inner ear, the prickly  
sensation on the back of his neck. It could only mean that an immortal  
was nearby.  
  
Because he wasn't expecting anyone, he turned up the TV via the  
remote to mask noise, sprang from the couch and grabbed his sword  
from inside his coat hanging by the door.  
  
The knock on the door made Methos shrug. It was either Mac or an  
unbearably ballsy immortal... either one would be bad news. He wasn't  
in the mood for company and wanted to finish watching the movie. He  
looked through the peephole and saw it was the former.  
  
MacLeod walked in and said, "Hey." Then he reacted to the noise of the  
TV, switched it off. "We have to talk."  
  
Methos was disturbed that he so nonchalantly turned off his movie, just  
when it was getting good. "I was watching that."  
  
"Citizen Kane? What took you so long? This is more important."  
  
"It can't wait for another five minutes?" Methos turned on the TV again.  
The reporter was still talking to the workmen. "I just want to see this."  
  
MacLeod turned it off again with the remote. "Rosebud's the sled,  
Methos."  
  
"What sled?"  
  
"The sled," Mac said, figuring that's all the explanation needed. Then he  
continued, "The sled Kane played with when he was a kid, before his life  
was turned upside down with all the money from the Colorado Lode."  
  
"MacLeod!" Methos jammed his hands on his hips. "Why would you tell  
me the ending? I invested two hours on that blasted thing!"  
  
"You've had 50 years to see it!"   
  
"I've been busy!"  
  
MacLeod watched as Methos clicked off the TV, not needing to see  
more, then said, "This is about Joe."  
  
"What about him? Did something happen?"  
  
"Have you been able to talk to him?"  
  
Methos said, "Not since he was in the hospital."  
  
"Me neither. Isn't that strange?"  
  
There was a pause, then Methos shrugged, "He's fine."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"He's in a nursing home for watchers," Methos explained. "He's only  
supposed to be in there for another week or so, then we'll be able to talk  
to him."  
  
"And where did you get this information?"  
  
"I talked to Mike at the bar last week."  
  
MacLeod paced, "I don't like it. Where is this nursing home?"  
  
"Out on I-90."  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Methos stopped him, "Are you insane? Or is your behavior today just a  
temporary thing?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm not walking into a watcher establishment."  
  
"Why not? You were pretty tight with them at one time."  
  
"At one time. And I wasn't tight," Methos spouted. "I've never been  
tight."  
  
"I know," Mac agreed. "A friend had a heart attack and you aren't lifting a  
finger to at least see him?"  
  
"Joe's fine."  
  
"Let's go see for ourselves," Mac threw Methos' coat at him.   
  
"MacLeod, slow down. I'm serious. I'm not walking in there."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Ms. Buttinsky Zoll outed me. I enjoy a low profile. Adam Pierson is not  
walking into a den of watchers, I don't care who's in there. They're taking  
care of Joe, he's one of their own. Mike says he's fine."  
  
"It's been too long without word."  
  
"May I remind you that mortals take a while to heal."  
  
"Joe should have his friends around him."  
  
"Immortal friends?" Methos raised an eyebrow. "What Joe needs is rest,  
medication, whatever doctors do nowadays for their patients. I'll send a  
card."  
  
"How can you be so Goddamned heartless?"  
  
Methos stared at him, "You think you can call me names and it's going to  
make me leap to your command and commit suicide? Come on, you  
know me better than that."  
  
"I thought I did." MacLeod threw up his arms. "Fine. I'll go alone. Where  
on I-90 is this place?"  
  
Methos told him, "You really need to get off caffeine, my friend. You can  
at least have a plan. And, *you* are also known by the watchers. Does  
that make you comfortable?"  
  
"I couldn't care less."  
  
"Well, bully for you."  
  
==============  
NEW YORK CITY  
==============  
  
Amy Thomas sat in incognito among a myriad of people on the steps of  
the Metropolitan Museum of Art watching a few read books, drink cups  
of coffee from the street vendor and a man in an unkempt overcoat  
mimicking the walk of a pigeon on the step above his. She leaned back  
and stretched her arms and worked the kinks out of her neck. Her latest  
assignment was a meek sort. There wasn't much to chronicle on Arthur  
Pangent, the three hundred year old immortal from Northern England.  
In fact, that trip to New York City was enough to make Amy jump for joy.  
She might actually have the opportunity to chronicle something.  
  
At times she relished not being close to danger, like she had been with  
Morgan Walker, but really! This guy did absolutely nothing! He wasn't  
even a pleasure to look at. Arthur had spent every day of the last week in  
the Big Apple eating a tuna or bologna sandwich on the subway, arrive  
at the museum by noon, then walked every single hallway looking at the  
artwork, getting back on the subway to his hotel room, stopping at a deli  
on the way. His light would go off at 11:10, just after the news, Amy  
assumed, then the whole process would start all over again. Each day  
the same.  
  
She walked down the steps to get some exercise and wait for Mr.  
Punctual to re-emerge, but she knew he'd be in there for the rest of the  
day. When she reached the street, she about jumped for joy when her  
cell phone rang. She'd put in for a transfer, maybe it finally came  
through. "Thomas," she said after pushing the button.  
  
"It's Adam," Amy heard a low voice say.  
  
She was in a good mood because of the intrusion, smiled, "Adam who?"  
The joke obviously didn't go over. Of course she knew who Adam was,  
but hadn't seen him since the incident with Walker. After a pause, she  
wondered, "How did you get my number?"  
  
"I have ways."  
  
"I'm sure you do." She lightly asked, "How've you been?"  
  
"Worried about your dad."  
  
"Joe? What happened?"  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"What? Is he sick or..." she hated to even admit it was a possibility, but  
she asked, "Dead?"  
  
"He had a heart attack two weeks ago."  
  
Amy about dropped the phone. Her knees buckled. Methos asked, "No  
one contacted you?"  
  
"No! Why didn't you?"  
  
"I figured you'd be informed. Meet me."  
  
"Where? When?"  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"On the corner of Fifth Avenue and 82nd Street."  
  
"Too specific. What city are you in?"  
  
"New York."  
  
Methos paused and said, "It's 9 am here. Meet me at Seacouver Zoo, the  
penguins, 6 tonight."  
  
"How is Joe?"  
  
"Don't worry. He's fine. I'll fill you in when I see you. 6 pm. Pacific time."  
  
"I'll be there." She hung up and ran to her car. She had wanted a  
diversion, but this was ridiculous!  
  
===============  
SEACOUVER ZOO  
===============  
  
MacLeod and Methos hovered around the penguin exhibit, getting out  
of the way of a bunch of kids who oohed and aahed, pointed at the birds  
as they waddled across the fake snow and dove into the water.   
  
MacLeod looked at his watch, "What time did you tell her to meet us?"  
  
"6."  
  
"It's ten after. Try her cell again."  
  
"I did while you were in the bathroom."  
  
A child stepped on Mac's foot, making him grab hold of the boy to  
steady him. When the boy looked up at the tall man in a long, dark coat,  
he froze. "Sorry."  
  
"Just be careful," MacLeod smiled. Then he asked Methos, "Tell me again  
why we couldn't just drive over to the home ourselves?"  
  
Methos glared at him, "If anyone can get in to see Joe, it's Amy. Can you  
imagine nobody called her? Why didn't you?"  
  
"To be honest, I didn't think about it. I've never even met Amy. Joe told  
me what you did for her, though," MacLeod said with a friendly smile.  
  
Methos humphed, "I live for your gratitude, Highlander."  
  
"Adam!" they heard Amy call and turned to her voice. When she ran up  
to them, she demanded, "Where is he? How is he? Damn you," Amy  
focused on Adam Pierson. "I've been frantic all damn day."  
  
"He's fine," Methos said.  
  
"I'm Duncan MacLeod," Mac said with his hand raised to shake hers.   
  
She slapped it away, "Some friends you are... you can't tell me Joe had a  
heart attack?"  
  
"Settle down," Methos said, steering her to the exit. "We took for granted  
your watcher family would have let you know."  
  
"How bad was the attack?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Mac admitted, taking her other arm.  
  
"Don't push me," Amy spouted. Jerked off their hands. "I want to see Joe.  
Now."  
  
Methos raised his hands in exasperation, "Yes, okay, get your arse in the  
car. We aren't going to fly."  
  
===========================  
PEACEFUL REST NURSING HOME  
===========================  
  
Joe was laying in bed with a massive headache. He stared at the  
acoustical tile of the ceiling and was at least grateful his chest didn't hurt  
anymore. He was so tired and wondered if he'd ever get his strength  
back. The same nurse from the garden came in and immediately went to  
work giving Joe his scheduled injection. Joe took for granted that it was  
his pain killer and didn't even make a fuss. He was actually looking  
forward to it getting rid of his headache and that buzzing in his ears.  
  
Then the nurse took his finger and pricked the end of it with a needle.  
"Ow!" Joe flinched. "What was that for?"  
  
"Blood work," was all the nurse said.  
  
He laughed to himself. He used to be leery of needles, now it was old  
hat. But, shouldn't he be off the pain killers soon? As soon as the nurse  
was finished, Joe felt groggy, so he closed his eyes and settled in for a  
good long sleep.  
  
When the nurse moved to Gerald's bedside and readied his injection.  
Joe's eyes snapped open when the supper tray from Gerald's table  
crashed to the floor. The old man was trying for everything he's worth to  
stop the nurse. "No," he insisted. "You're not going to do it anymore!"  
  
The nurse ran out of the room. Gerald looked at the door and then at  
Joe, then realized the sudden silence in the room, and the lack of an  
injection into his system. "Well, that didn't take much. Why didn't I have  
the guts to do that before?"  
  
"What's the problem, old man?"  
  
"They're killing us, Dawson."  
  
Joe smiled, shook his head, "Get some sleep."  
  
The old man pulled himself up on his right elbow and stated to Joe,  
"That's all we do around here. Sleep. If I never sleep again, it will be good  
news for me. You're new, so it hasn't hit you yet. I've been here for 6  
months. They're killing us, I tell you as sure as I'm laying here."  
  
Just then, the nurse came back with two orderlies. Big burly orderlies.  
What did she need two musclemen to subdue a dying, senile old man  
for? The old man fought them off as bravely as he could, but to no avail.  
Gerald yelled at Joe, "Get the hell out of here, Dawson! You're going to  
look like me in 6 months! It's too late for me, but you, Dawson..." Gerald  
took the time to bite the hand of one of the orderlies who was trying to  
cover his mouth, making the big guy howl in pain. "Get out of here!"  
  
Joe watched as it took both men and half of the nurse to get him flat on  
the bed to give the 81 year old man his shot. Gerald was expending  
more energy than Joe had seen the whole time he had been in that  
place. For the first time, Joe finally wondered what the hell was in those  
shots, that he was just given. He looked at the pin prick on his finger.  
Blood work for what?  
  
But, he didn't have much time to wonder, the shot had kicked in. His  
head felt light. When he tried to raise his hand, to get the attention of  
the nurse, it felt like it weighed a ton. Joe tilted his head to the left to  
look at Gerald, who was no longer a bull in a china shop. He was laying  
flat. Eyes drooping. Breathing heavy. Drool seeping down his cheek.  
  
****  
  
Amy left Methos and MacLeod in the car and barreled through the  
double doors of Peaceful Rest Nursing Home. "Who's in charge here?"  
she asked the first worker she came across.  
  
The meek nurses aide pointed to a formidable woman dressed in a suit  
and starched blouse standing in the nurse's station. Amy stomped to  
her and instructed, "I came to see my father. Joseph Dawson. Now."  
  
The woman in the suit, with the perfectly positioned name tag reading  
Ms. Barrett on her collar, looked up from the paperwork to look Amy up  
and down. "And you are?"  
  
"I'm his daughter, Amy Thomas. And how dare you not tell me, his only  
family, that he's ill and a patient here!"  
  
"Keep your voice down, miss," Ms. Barrett calmly stated.   
  
"What room is he in?"  
  
One of the nurses sitting at the station said, "133," before thinking, and  
before she got the look that could kill from Ms. Barrett.  
  
When Amy took off down the hallway marked Rooms 100-140, Ms.  
Barrett followed. "Hold on, young lady. This is a rest home. Mr. Dawson is  
taking a well deserved nap. We can inform you when he's ready for  
visitors."  
  
"He's ready for me now. I'm his daughter," Amy said, without looking at  
Ms. Barrett. She found 133 and went right in. Ms. Barrett walked away,  
determinedly. As soon as Amy saw Joe, she stopped dead in her tracks. It  
was the first time she'd seen him without his legs. His hair was longer,  
uncombed, and he looked so old.  
  
Joe opened his eyes. He focused on the female form in the doorway.  
"Laura?" he softly asked, thinking it was the one love of his life. The  
mother of his only child.  
  
Amy moved forward, bent down so he could see her, "It's Amy."   
  
"Amy?" He grabbed her hand.  
  
She smiled. "How are you?"  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"What am I doing here? You have a heart attack and in a nursing home  
and you're wondering why I'd want to see you?"  
  
Joe smiled at his daughter. It was the first time he's seen her since she  
left the bar in Paris after finding out that he was her father, not the man  
who raised her. Methos said she'd be back. All those years since, how he  
hoped she'd be back one day. And how she looked like her mother. But,  
why did she have to see him like this? He could about imagine what he  
looked like.  
  
Amy leaned closer to Joe and kissed him on the cheek, "What are you  
doing in here?"  
  
"Taking a nap."  
  
"I hate to tell you this, but... you look terrible. You have black circles  
under your eyes, it looks like you haven't slept at all. You look weak. Are  
you okay?"  
  
"I've been better."  
  
Amy saw the other man in the other bed. He didn't look much better  
than Joe. What were they doing to them? Joe was a vibrant man, still a  
young man. The thought that he was three years older than the last time  
she saw him didn't make her think he would have aged that much.  
  
Joe shut his eyes again, Amy felt the pulse on his neck. It was steady as  
far as she could tell. She'd never seen a person after a heart attack and  
didn't know if this condition was normal or not. Ms. Barrett walked in  
with the two orderlies. The same ones that subdued Gerald. One of  
them had a bandaged hand from his bite mark. "Ms. Thomas, you have  
to leave now."  
  
"I just got here."  
  
"Mr. Dawson is resting."  
  
"I can wait until he wakes up."  
  
Barrett took her arm to move her to the door, "I've also gotten word that  
you left your assignment in New York City without making sure there  
was a replacement."  
  
"I just heard about my father."  
  
"One has been assigned to Pangent."  
  
Amy rolled her eyes, someone else to be bored to tears, "What a relief."  
  
Ms. Barrett stated, "Our regular visiting hours are from 8 am until 5 pm.  
You're more than welcome to come back tomorrow."  
  
"Regular visiting hours? This isn't regular. I'm from out of town and just  
got here."  
  
"Miss, we have to wake the patients and feed them and bath them and  
get them settled for the night. You'll only be in the way. You're more  
than welcome to come back tomorrow."  
  
Amy looked again at her sleeping father, "What's wrong with him?"  
  
"He's had a heart attack."  
  
"I know that," Amy was perturbed, but since Ms. Barrett was using a civil  
tone, so would she. "But it's not usual for heart attack victims to be sent  
to nursing homes."  
  
"It is if there isn't anyone to take care of him at home," she said. Amy  
wondered if that was a personal jab, or just the truth. "Mr. Dawson has  
no legs. Each step he would take on the   
prosthetics make extra strain on the heart. He can't take care of himself  
at this time and has a couple of more weeks of treatment yet to go  
through, and scheduling is very important."  
  
****  
  
Amy walked back out to the car and had MacLeod and Methos'  
undivided attention when she slouched into the back seat. "How is he?"  
Mac asked.  
  
"He's sleeping." Amy looked out the window at Peaceful Rest and  
pondered. "I was told to come back tomorrow during regular visiting  
hours and I can talk to him."  
  
"Did you get to see him?"  
  
"Yes. He looks terrible."  
  
Methos asked, "In what way."  
  
"Weak. Tired. They haven't even combed his hair." She still stared at the  
building, and asked, "I wonder what Barrett's first name is."  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
"Commandant of the gulag," she said, motioning to the rest home.  
  
Mac asked, "Should we go back in and try it again?"  
  
"No," Amy said. "Take me to Westport and 9th."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Regional Watcher Headquarters."  
  
===============================  
REGIONAL WATCHER HEADQUARTERS  
===============================  
  
Amy's clearance got her entrance into the library, but unfortunately, not  
the database. After looking up as much as she could about Peaceful Rest  
and Barrett, she'd come up with bumpkus. She got out her cell phone  
and called Adam. There was only one other person in the library that  
time of night, so she walked to the other side of the room, between two  
shelves, for privacy. "Yeah," Adam answered.  
  
"I need a password," Amy whispered into the phone.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"I'm not as high up as I thought I was. I can't get into the West Coast  
database. Do you have any ideas?"  
  
There was a pause on the phone, then Methos asked, "How secure is  
your phone?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Great," Methos moaned, but he had to tell her. "I don't know if it will  
work... but... when I was with them I programed in a back door so I could  
get in even if the passwords were changed."  
  
"Cool!" Amy was sorry she was so loud, hoping that other watcher  
wouldn't be suspicious. "What is it?"  
  
"I worked in the European bureau, it may not make any difference to the  
American database...."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"At the password screen, alt, control, F9, at the new screen, type in  
Alexa."  
  
"Who's Alexa, Adam," Amy smiled.  
  
"I'll tell you if you aren't shot on sight after trying that back door."  
  
"Great," Amy cringed. "Talk later."  
  
*****  
  
Amy ran out the door and across the parking lot to where MacLeod's  
T-Bird was parked in the shadows. The fact that she was running didn't  
make either immortal feel easy. At any moment, they expected armed  
guards to come out after her. Amy jumped into the back seat and  
MacLeod took off. "What happened," Methos turned around to ask.  
  
"You're backdoor was still in place," Amy smiled, out of breath.  
  
Methos commented, "Really?" Then shrugged, "Good to know." They  
looked back, no one was in pursuit. "Why were you running?"  
  
"He have to get Joe the hell out of there."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Your back door really worked," Amy said, taking some stolen  
documents out from their hiding place in her coat. "I got to another  
classified area of the database and I got in. Ms. Barrett's real name is  
Clarissa Barrymore." Amy sat back and let it sink into the men.  
  
As if it would. They waited, but had to pump her for info. "She was  
supposedly kicked out of the watchers 5 years ago for being a wacko."  
  
Methos grunted, "You'd think that being a wacko would make her feel  
right at home with them."  
  
Amy squinted at him, "Hey!"  
  
"Just a joke. What did she do, and why is she back with the watchers?"  
  
Amy told MacLeod, "By the way, we're going back to Peaceful Rest."  
  
"Of course," Mac said.  
  
Methos asked again, "Why was Barrymore kicked out?"  
  
"I can't believe you haven't heard of her."  
  
"So sue me. Who is she?"  
  
"Clarissa Barrymore is a scientist and she was brought into the watchers  
when she discovered an immortal. To make a long story short, she was  
caught experimenting on immortals. She'd have them kidnaped and  
she'd perform tests."  
  
Both Methos and MacLeod hated the thought, and that Joe was in her  
hands. But, Joe was a mortal. And, didn't Amy say she was out of the  
watchers? Methos asked, "I thought the place was run by the watchers."  
  
"Peaceful Rest?"  
  
"Yes. That's what Mike said."  
  
"Who's Mike?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
Amy told them, "It is owned and operated by the watchers. In fact, a lot  
of elderly watchers are taken there after their retirement. For testing."  
  
MacLeod looked back at her through the rear view mirror as he cruised  
down the interstate. "Mortals? Why?"  
  
"I found what is called the 'Eureka' document in the database. After  
Barrymore, Barrett whatever you want to call her was dismissed, she  
continued researching immortals. The watchers found out. They were  
going to have a little chat with her about the Watcher Code that she  
seemed to have forgotten about. She didn't leave it alone, she wasn't  
quiet. You know, a chat with guns, make an offer you can't refuse to  
don't tell, don't experiment."  
  
Both Mac and Methos nodded, Amy continued, "Well, they found out  
she made progress in her research."  
  
Mac turned off the interstate and onto the road to the home. Methos  
asked, "What was she working on?"  
  
Amy announced, "How to make mortals immortal."  
  
Mac's foot hit the brake and stopped the car, turned along with Methos  
to stare at Amy. Amy just nodded. "She's almost there. I also found a  
statistical form on the number of deaths at Peaceful Rest. Do you know  
how many? 210 so far this year. That doesn't seem to be that big of a  
number, it is, after all, a nursing home. But, some of the deaths were  
children, younger men and women, who shouldn't have been put in  
there in the first place. How they got some of those people, I wasn't able  
to find out. But I did find a document actually stating the treatments.  
They're taking samples from the patients and mixing hormones from  
immortals, blending them, performing gene therapy stuff. It's too  
technical for me to figure out, but they're injecting them back into the  
people. Some died within minutes of the injections. Some took longer.  
Some are only used to get samples."  
  
Mac yelled, "And this is sanctioned by the watchers?"  
  
"A faction of the watchers. They're called the Omega Group. Do you  
know what that is?" she asked Adam.  
  
He shook his head. "What?"  
  
"I don't know, I was hoping you would. Anyway, they got Joe and we got  
to get them out of there."  
  
Mac put the pedal to the metal and they arrived in no time at the home.  
He was going to park in the shadows of the corner of the parking lot, but  
Amy told him, "Park by the door."  
  
"They'll see us."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
Methos asked, "Are you crazy? We're going to break out a patient, do you  
think they're not going to stop us?"  
  
"I have IDs here." She handed two badges to Mac and Adam. They  
strained to see them in the dim light. "I made quite a fuss this evening  
and I might be remembered. So, you two are members of the Omega  
Group. Sinclair Holloway and James Tucker."  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"I have no idea," Amy admitted. "But they'll get you in the door."  
  
Methos grunted, "We just waltz right in there, say we want Joe Dawson  
and wheel him out?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Amy!" Mac yelled again.  
  
"Holloway and Tucker are very high up, I just couldn't find out their  
actual job description. There was another password screen that your  
back door didn't work on. I'm thinking that what they say goes. No  
questions asked."  
  
Methos asked, "And what happens if you're wrong?"  
  
"I'll see you at the execution," she smiled.  
  
Mac and Methos glared at her, Methos exclaimed, "I don't like your  
humor, Amy."  
  
"It's just as bad as yours. I didn't like that shot on sight remark at all.  
Come on. I did the dirty work, you get the glory. Go get him."  
  
Mac looked at the badge. Sinclair Holloway. He took James Tucker's  
badge from Methos' hand and tossed Holloway's into his lap. "Come on,  
Sinclair."  
  
Before Methos left the car, he pointed at Amy and said, "This better  
work."  
  
"It will. Act like an officious jerk and nothing will go wrong."  
  
Methos got out of the car, straightened his clothes and wished he had a  
clipboard. From past experience, it was always easier to get into  
buildings if you had a clipboard to show and acted like you were there  
for a reason. Mac yanked at the door, but it was locked. "Good going,  
Holloway," Methos smiled.  
  
"I'm Tucker. You're Holloway."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
They rapped on the door and waited for the night nurse to come. Mac  
hoped Barrett was still there, but she probably wouldn't be. He had the  
unbearable impulse to punch her in the nose for a start. He looked at  
Methos. "We should be wearing suits."  
  
"It's Friday."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Casual Fridays."  
  
MacLeod shook his head, "Sometimes I worry about you."  
  
"Someone has to."  
  
The night nurse punched the intercom button on the other side of the  
door, "Who are you?"  
  
Methos lifted his badge. "Sinclair Holloway. Open the door."  
  
The nurse's eyes widened and snapped to attention. She fumbled with  
the keys that hung from a chain around her neck as Mac whispered to  
Methos, "Maybe such higher ups would have their own keys..."  
  
"Well, it didn't faze her," Methos whispered back. He gave the strength  
gesture and said, "We're going to do this."  
  
As soon as the nurse unlocked the door, Methos and Mac strolled in,  
past her and to the nurse's station. There was a bookish sort almost  
asleep, but working on a crossword puzzle. She jumped when Mac  
asked, "Who are you?"  
  
She nervously said, "Penelope Rice... sir."  
  
"What do you do here?"  
  
"I'm a night aide."  
  
The night nurse joined them, "Can I ask what you're doing here, Mr.  
Holloway?"  
  
Methos puffed up his chest to act more officious and stated in a very  
businesslike tone, "We need Joseph Dawson. Now."  
  
"Sir?" Both woman just looked at them.  
  
Methos stated again, "Joseph Dawson, a patient. Where is he?"  
  
"In his room. What do you want him for?"  
  
Methos wondered when the no questions asked would happen like Amy  
suggested it would. "We're taking him to another facility."  
  
Mac leaned over the desk and found a list of names and numbers. The  
night nurse grabbed it from him, "This is highly irregular."  
  
Mac sneered at her, put his nose in the air, "Do you enjoy working here?"  
  
"Yes," she said.  
  
"Do you know who you're talking to?"  
  
"I've heard of you."  
  
Mac told Methos, "Room 133." then looked at the nurse, "Right? Did I see  
that right before you rudely took that list out of my hand? I can have you  
fired for that. But I won't. I'm good guy. And it's Casual Friday. I don't fire  
people on Casual Friday."  
  
"Thank you, sir," the nurse said, followed them down the 100-140  
hallway. "Mr. Dawson's had quite a day."  
  
Mac looked at the numbers on the doors, "Oh? Why's that?"  
  
"A young woman came in here just as my shift started. Caused a little  
ruckus. She wanted to see Mr. Dawson also."  
  
"Yes," Methos said, spotting a little girl lying on one of the beds in one of  
the rooms they past. "That's why Dawson is being moved. We're  
stepping up his testing."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Methos looked at the nurse, didn't have an answer, then said, "None of  
your business."  
  
They walked into 133 and were just as startled as Amy by Joe's current  
condition. What Mac hated most of all was that Joe wasn't wearing his  
legs. He was never without them around other people. He snapped at  
the nurse, "Where are his legs?"  
  
"I don't know," she had to admit.  
  
"Get a wheel chair," Methos told her, bending over Joe, checking his  
pulse and opening an eyelid. He was in a deep sleep.  
  
"Yes, sir," and she was gone.  
  
Mac watched her walk down the hall. "Well, that was easy."  
  
The old man in the next bed startled them when he cried out, "Get him  
out of here!"  
  
They both looked at the man who they could have sworn was in a deep  
sleep when they entered the room. He continued, "I'd ask you to take  
me too, but it'll only slow you down. Get him out of here. And don't  
forget the rest of us when he's safe."  
  
Methos saw a wheelchair being pushed into the room, so he uncovered  
Joe and slipped his arms under him. Only, the wheelchair, was pushed  
into the room and crashed against the wall and the two burly two  
orderlies, Barrett's right hand men, came in. "I don't think so," the  
bandaged hand one said.  
  
Mac showed him his badge, James Tucker. The orderly only smiled. "Mr.  
Tucker in on vacation in Bermuda with his wife and lovely daughter. I  
don't know who you are."  
  
Mac smiled, looked at the worthless badge in his hand and then at  
Methos, who by that time had straightened up. There was only one  
thing to do. Mac kicked the orderly in the groin, making him fall to the  
floor. Before his buddy could even formulate a thought, Mac punched  
him between the eyes.  
  
Gerald screamed out, "Get him! Man! I've wanted to do that!"  
  
Methos picked up Joe and carried him over to the wheelchair, setting  
him down. The orderly clutching his groin pulled at Methos' leg. Mac  
grabbed him, picked him up and slammed his head against the wall.  
"Thanks," Methos smiled at Mac, rolled Joe into the hallway.  
  
=============  
PARKING LOT  
=============  
  
Amy saw Adam pushing Joe down the hallway at a fast pace. She  
jumped out of the car and opened the door for him. Mac and Methos  
got Joe into the back seat and Amy pushed the wheelchair away,  
jumped into the seat next to Joe. As soon as Mac got into the driver's  
seat, he reversed, spun the car around, and floored it.   
  
Joe came to in the backseat, woozy, and saw Amy's face next to his. He  
smiled, "Hey, where are we?"  
  
"We're taking you home, Joe," she told him, kissing his cheek.  
  
Methos said, "No we're not. They might find out about this, and who was  
behind it. Joe's going into hiding for a while, along with the rest of us."  
  
Mac said, "Yeah. Until we get place shut down."  
  
Joe smiled that he was back with his family. He held Amy's hand, so  
happy she was with him. Then he caught a glance out the corner of his  
eye at his stumps. "Can't I at least have my legs?"  
  
==========  
THE END  
==========  
  



	2. Stand By Me 2: Artificial Immortality

STAND BY ME PART 2  
ARTIFICIAL IMMORTALITY  
By JoLayne  
EnyaJo@aol.com  
  
CHARACTERS: Duncan, Methos, Joe, Amy, Zoll, OCs Arthur, Gerald,  
Preston Agnew, Clarissa Barrymore  
SUMMARY: Joe's rescued from the nursing home, but there are a lot of  
loose ends to tie up.  
  
This is a sequel to the story, "Stand By Me," as I've received a lot of  
feedback of people demanding one, even though SBM was a 48-hour  
challenge on the HL GenFic list. Thank you for all the wonderful  
feedback! And also a big thank you to Shomeret for making the  
challenge in the first place. A big, heartfelt thanks goes out to a  
wonderful beta, Heather, who makes sense out of completely confusing  
sentences!   
  
Hope you like this. Stand By Me can be found on the GenFic archives, on  
fanfiction.net, on 7th Dimension, or at my site:  
http://www.geocities.com/enyajo/hlfanfic.html  
  
  
BOSTON  
  
After Joe was rescued from the Peaceful Rest Nursing Home in  
Seacouver, he was happy and relieved, but wanted some legs! His  
prosthetics were left behind when MacLeod and Methos liberated him.  
An old friend of Mac's had a friend, who had a friend who worked on the  
latest technology available for prosthetics. So, Methos and Amy brought  
Joe to Boston where he could be fitted for the best limbs available. After  
what he had been through, Methos thought he deserved the top of the  
line, and he was prepared to pay for them.   
  
Joe sat on a chair in the hotel room with his friend and daughter,  
admiring his new legs. There was a computer chip embedded inside  
each leg that was it's 'brain'. He freely lifted his right leg, then bent and  
unbent his knee and shook his head with mild amusement. He was still  
not used to them. He no longer needed a cane and could even twist his  
ankles. Happily, Joe jumped up and grabbed Amy, who was sitting on  
the end of the bed and twirled her around in a dance.   
  
"Careful there," Amy laughed gaily at her nimble footed father. She was  
still extremely careful around Joe and his legs, worried he'd do too  
much, too soon.   
  
Delirious, Joe said, "I'm fine. I've never felt better." Then, sobering for a  
moment, Joe genuinely thanked Methos for the gift. They weren't  
cheap. "I owe you so much," he realized as he pulled his daughter into a  
hug and kissed her on the top of her head.  
  
"Don't mention it," Methos said, patting him on the back.   
  
Joe felt absolutely light on his feet, but he was still recovering from his  
heart attack. Amy insisted he sit back down. "I just got you back, I don't  
want you going into any hospitals or nursing homes again, so take it  
easy."  
  
He placated her by taking a seat, verbalizing his thoughts, "That Gerald...  
I wonder what's going on in that place and how he's doing."  
  
Methos said, "I'm sure he's fine. Mac called from the airport, he's on his  
way here."  
  
"He's 81 years old, Adam," Joe spouted. "If they're still poking and  
prodding, testing him, God knows what condition he's in, or if he's even  
still alive."  
  
Amy gave him a glass of orange juice and sat next to him, "Dad," she  
began.  
  
Joe smiled, took her hand, and interrupted, "You know how many years I  
waited for you to call me that?"  
  
Methos sat back and sipped on his beer. He felt a touch of heartwarming  
pleasure for both of them. Joe had been so depressed when Amy left  
suddenly after the Walker incident, but she'd come running without  
having to be asked twice when Joe was in trouble. He saw Joe twisting  
his ankles and bouncing his knee while he sat in the chair, just because  
he could. Methos zoned out their private conversation and focused on  
the song on the radio while they caught up and solidified their bond.  
  
Suddenly, Joe's words had him focusing on the conversation, "The  
others," Joe shook his head. "I really didn't see anyone else in the home.  
We were all kept on separate schedules in different wards."  
  
Amy told him, "There were children, Dad. Did you ever see children at  
the home?"  
  
"Kids?" Joe was shocked, and rose out of his seat, unaided and began  
pacing in the room, "I didn't see any kids! What the hell was going on  
there?"  
  
"That's what Mac's looking into," Methos said, getting off the bed, to act  
as support in case Joe, in his agitation, took a wrong turn. He wasn't  
quite used to the way his legs worked and he was pacing a hole in the  
carpet.  
  
There was a knock on the door. Amy was relieved to see Duncan  
MacLeod walk in knowing he had information. Great timing, she  
thought, this waiting was doing them all in.  
  
His news wasn't good. "The Peaceful Rest Nursing Home has been  
cleared out. The entire building is empty. Nothing was left behind."  
  
"It was completely wiped clean?" Joe asked, knowing the watchers were  
good and thorough, but it had happened so quickly.  
  
"It's just an empty shell," Mac said, then he stood back gleefully staring  
at Joe, standing, pacing, without the use of a cane. "How do your legs  
feel?"  
  
"Like they're mine, Mac," Joe rubbed his hand against his left leg, smiling  
at Methos again in thanks. "I can even feel temperature. There's a chip  
inside, and it will let me feel hot and cold. And I mean *hot* and *cold*,  
Mac."  
  
"That's wonderful. They look great," Mac said, still looking him over, then  
he realized that they were looking at each other at eye level. Had Joe  
asked to be a little taller with his new legs?  
  
Amy took some photographs out of MacLeod's hand and leafed through  
them. They were of the empty building, grounds and what rooms he'd  
been able to take a picture of through the windows of what had recently  
been masquerading as a full-fledged nursing home, a place where old  
Watchers could go to be cared for.   
  
Amy's cell rang and she pulled it out of her bag to answer it. They could  
all tell from her end of the conversation, that the call was from Watcher  
Headquarters, and that she might be in a spot of trouble. Joe  
immediately recognized her uptight demeanor. She pleasantly, but  
abruptly, answered their questions with one syllable words. She hung  
up and told them that she had just been 'called in'. "I have to go to  
London for a meeting."  
  
"What about?" Joe massaged her neck, she was wound up tight because  
she didn't want to let them see that she was a little more than worried.  
She should be able to trust them; Joe trusted her and them with his life.  
He told her, "Well, I'll go with you and try to help smooth things over."  
  
"No, Dad," she immediately said, making Joe giggle with delight that she  
so freely used that term of endearment. "You've seen enough danger for  
one man, at least for a while. Just enjoy getting used to your new legs  
and I'll see you later. I'll call as soon as the meeting's over."  
  
She picked up her coat and went to the door. Joe stopped her with a  
hand on her arm, "You have to go right now?"  
  
"The meeting's at 1 tomorrow afternoon, London time. They already  
made my flight reservation." Before Joe could talk her into letting him  
go with her, she kissed him on the cheek, "I'll call you as soon as the  
meeting's over. It'll be fine."  
  
As she opened the door, Joe said, "Take care of yourself."  
  
"I will," Amy said, waving behind her as she made her way down the hall.  
  
Joe forcefully shut the door, pissed. He knew there were factions of the  
Watcher organization that were trigger happy, and he couldn't help but  
think she was walking into something because she had publicly  
protected him, saving him from that place.  
  
"What kind of trouble could she be in?" Mac asked as he moved a chair  
closer to Joe for him to sit on. Joe just stood and glared at him; he didn't  
need to be coddled. "Okay, fine," Mac said and he sat on the chair  
himself and crossed one leg over the other.   
  
"Who knows," Joe muttered, examining the wallpaper, praying it would  
go well. "I wonder if they really know what went on in that place."  
  
Methos finished his brew and tossed the bottle into the garbage can  
across the room. Raised his arms in victory, he made the perfect shot. "I  
was with the organization for ten years, Joe, and *I* never knew how  
gruesome the place was. They kept it well hidden. I'm thinking that the  
Omega Group isn't a part of the main governing body of the Watchers."  
  
"I didn't know either," Joe fumed. "Or I never would have allowed them  
to bring me there." He looked at his arms where they'd put in IVs, and at  
his fingers where he was pricked twice a day the entire time he was  
there.   
  
Mac shook his head, looking at the two former Watchers, "How could  
they *not* know? The place was a sanctioned nursing home for their  
own."  
  
"Creative bookkeeping," Methos quickly responded, to which Joe  
agreed. "You'd be surprised at what the Watchers paid for while I was  
with them."  
  
"I can imagine," Mac grumbled, then slapped the arms of the chair and  
stood, "Well, let's go."   
  
"Where?"  
  
"London," Mac said. "Amy doesn't have to know we're following her." He  
put his coat back on, then took his katana out of it so he could pack it for  
the flight.  
  
Joe was relieved Mac was thinking along the same lines he was, then he  
guardedly looked over at Methos, gauging his reaction to going to the  
rescue of another person, so soon after the last episode . Methos, to  
both of their surprise, was also putting on his coat. "Good plan," he said.  
Needless to say, they were both amazed that he was willing to once  
again leap to the rescue. He caught their stares and asked, "What? Or,  
don't you need me?"  
  
Joe said, an easy smile floating across his face, "You're going to waltz  
right into Watcher Headquarters?"  
  
"No," Methos emphatically stated. "I'll find a side door. Just to...," he  
shrugged, "see how the meeting goes."  
  
"God, Methos," Joe spouted. "I didn't expect this from you."  
  
"Why?" Methos asked because he really wanted to know the answer to  
that. "I'm concerned about Immortals, *and* interfering Watchers."  
  
"Well, okay," Mac said happy that he didn't have to talk Methos into  
going, which was what he'd been prepared to do before he so gallantly  
offered his services.   
  
Methos muttered on the way to the car, "But, if I get executed, I want my  
ashes scattered over the White Cliffs of Dover."  
  
  
LONDON  
  
The meeting took place in a cold, stark, steel reinforced room. A panel of  
Watchers, on a raised platform sat behind a large, imposing teak wood  
desk looking down on her as she sat in a solitary folding chair in the  
middle of the room. Amy had already been told that another Watcher  
had been assigned to Pangent and that she was on probation for her  
behavior; 'leaving an assignment without proper cover that is, not  
securing proper backup before leaving her post'. She lightly laughed  
from relief, "That's all?"  
  
The panel members weren't thrilled with her reaction to their  
announcement. One asked, "What else would you suggest?"  
  
She remained quiet and put on a sorrowful face. Her behavior at the  
nursing home was on her mind the whole time, thinking that was   
why the meeting had been called. The possibility of a reprimand for   
leaving a boring Immortal, who wasn't going to be challenging   
anyone in the near future, unwatched, had never crossed her mind.  
She was actually happy when the head Watcher on the panel,   
speaking into the blaring microphone for the record, stated in a   
monotone voice, "You will work in filing for three months, after   
which time, we will closely scrutinize your work. We'll expect your   
final entry in Arthur Pangent's chronicle by the end of the week."  
  
"Thank you, sirs," she respectfully said and stood while they filed out of  
the room, leaving her alone with a guard. He handed her a paper  
describing her new assignment. She cringed thinking of even more  
boredom ahead of her when she saw that she wasn't even assigned to  
the busy, well stocked London Watcher Headquarter Records Room. Her  
base of operation was to be Charlotte, North Carolina. Wonderful!,  
she ironically thought. She collected her purse and briefcase and was  
escorted out of the building by the guard. On the way out, she  
developed an idea. Her new predicament wouldn't be so bad after all.  
  
Outside the building, she bade the guard goodbye and waved for a taxi,  
but none stopped for her. She started down the sidewalk and just about  
flipped when a couple of blocks from the Watcher Headquarter building,  
displaying a placard that read 'Industrial Fabrication', she saw her father  
walking toward her. "What are you going here?"  
  
"Watching for you," he smiled, and took her arm, to keep her walking.  
Amy still hadn't gotten use to the sight of her father walking without a  
cane. Joe obviously wasn't complacent about it either, because he did a  
little soft shoe dance for her. Then he said, "Security here is tight. We  
couldn't get inside. What did they do to you?"  
  
"I'm working in filing for the next three months while I'm on probation."  
  
"Nothing else?"  
  
"No. Isn't that enough?"  
  
"Great!," he immediately exclaimed. "We can look up info on Barrymore."  
  
"That's just what I was thinking," she smiled. "But, who's we?"  
  
"Me," Joe pointed, as the car driven by Methos stopped at the curb  
down the street. "And them."  
  
"Tucker and Holloway?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind," she shook her head with a smile and took his arm as they  
walked to the sedan, the back door already opened for them by Duncan.  
"I don't know how much I'll be able to find out," she told Joe. "I'll be in  
Charlotte, North Carolina."  
  
"God," Joe replied. "They *really* wanted you away from the action."  
  
"I wonder why. Maybe they know more than they're letting on," Amy  
said as she settled herself in the back seat. As soon as they were in the  
car and all the doors were shut, Methos peeled away from the curb.  
Amy said, "They didn't even bring up the events at the Peaceful Rest  
Nursing Home."  
  
Methos replied, "Why ask questions when they already know the  
answers."  
  
"If they're so concerned about what I know," Amy said, sitting up and  
leaning over the front seat. "Then why would they send me to  
Timbuktu?"  
  
"So they can keep an eye on you, while preventing you from being able  
to figure out anything on your own," Joe answered.   
  
Amy turned to Methos and asked, "Hey, Adam. You think that back door  
is going to work in Charlotte?"  
  
"If you haven't told anyone about it, it should."  
  
Duncan asked, "What back door?"  
  
"To get past the password screen, you push alt, control, F9, type in  
Alexa," she easily told him.  
  
Methos stopped short at the intersection, and groaned, "Just tell  
everyone!"  
  
"It's only them."  
  
Duncan asked, "Alexa?"  
  
"Yes. I needed a word that I wouldn't forget, at least four letters long,"  
Methos said peeling out again after the light changed. "You got a  
problem with that?"  
  
Joe and Mac exchanged knowing smiles, touched that she was still so  
important in his life while Amy asked, "Who's Alexa?"  
  
  
TWO WEEKS LATER  
CHARLOTTE WATCHER BUREAU  
  
Amy worked in the filing room and, unsurprisingly, had a lot of time on  
her hands. The only thing that saved her sanity was whenever she was  
alone, she used the Alexa back door to find out anything she could  
about Clarissa Barrymore, The Omega Group, the Eureka Project, Gerald  
Nedemeier, Joe Dawson, James Tucker, Sinclair Holloway, or Peaceful  
Rest. It was a long process because almost everything she ran a search  
on was classified. If she did happen to find anything, it was 'For Eyes  
Only', which meant she couldn't print out or download any of it. All the  
information she gleaned was in pieces, nothing was organized like the  
rest of the information in the database was.   
  
One afternoon, she got into her own personnel file and took a look.  
That's when she found out why she had been given less than exciting  
assignments. The Watchers were worried that she would be kidnaped  
by an Immortal again and divulge their secrets. Assigning her to watch  
Immortals who wouldn't be in a fight was the only way, they felt, she  
could get her confidence back and return to real field work. She stood  
and paced, pissed. They didn't need to protect her! She was the one who  
wrote out the end of Walker's chronicle! She shouldn't have written that  
she was compromised, why did she do that? At least Adam would be  
happy. In Walker's chronicle, she only wrote that he was taken by an  
unknown Immortal.  
  
Thinking about that only brought up a lot of questions about her  
father's mysterious Immortal friend, Adam Pierson. Why was he so  
paranoid? And who is Alexa? How old was he? Where did he come from?  
Why, and how was he a Watcher for so long. None of them would  
explain anything to her. So many questions went through her head, but  
she knew she wasn't going to find any answers there. Besides, she  
needed to use her time alone with the database doing something  
productive.  
  
Every little nugget of information gleaned that was a big deal when they  
were so few and far between. They had all agreed on 'radio silence' for  
the time being so anyone watching her or tapping her phone wouldn't  
know that she and her father were friends with Immortals, who were  
trying to find out what a splinter group of the Watchers was up to. That  
evening would be the first meeting with Joe, Duncan and Methos since  
they had parted ways in London.   
  
Amy walked into the restaurant to see that she was the last to arrive. She  
immediately handed over the employee list for the now-defunct  
Peaceful Rest Nursing Home and Gerald Nedemeier's current address,  
updated just the week before, to Mac as she sat down at their table. It  
was the most solid information that she'd been able to lay her hands on  
in the past two weeks.  
  
Joe and Duncan stood when she arrived, and she just shook her head at  
Methos, still sitting, munching on a bread stick. Mac sat and scanned the  
list. She told him, "Sorry I haven't been able to print out more. I have  
some notes in my briefcase, but most of what I've found out is in my  
head."  
  
Mac held the printout saying, "No, this is fine," as he read through the  
names.  
  
Methos leaned forward and caught a glimpse of it, "For now," he added.  
"We have to find that Barrymore woman, she's the key to the whole  
thing."  
  
"Amy's doing the best she can, Adam," Joe spouted.  
  
"You don't have to defend me, Dad." Amy glared at Methos, "I'm doing  
the best I can."  
  
"Sorry," Methos said and sat back in his chair. He thought he was dealing  
with someone who could hack. Maybe he should go to this insignificant  
bureau and try his own hand at it. Two weeks and a list of employees  
was all she was able to figure out?  
  
Amy explained, "That's the only thing I was able to print out. I found out  
more, it's just that it's 'For Eyes Only', so I can't hand over buckets of  
paper to you." She tilted her head towards Adam and told Duncan and  
Joe, "Maybe Bill Gates over there can figure out a way around that  
security."  
  
Methos shrugged, maybe so. "So, tell us what you've found out."  
  
"You know that our Ms. Barrymore was kicked out of the organization  
five years ago for being a wacko. She was a scientist who was brought  
into the Watcher organization when she discovered an Immortal," Amy  
brought them all up to speed. "She began experimenting on Immortals.  
When the Watchers found out, they kicked her out. Remember? The  
experiments were called The Eureka Project, funded by the Omega  
Group, a splinter organization of the Watchers, founded by Barrymore,  
operated by Tucker and Holloway," she said slowly, then whispered,  
"How to make mortals Immortal..."  
  
"Yeah," they urged her on to tell them something they didn't know.  
They'd had two weeks to digest all that and just wanted her to get on  
with it new information.  
  
"It's still going on," Amy solemnly said, and let them digest that. "The  
Peaceful Rest was shut down, but it was only the tip of the iceberg.  
There are eight more facilities across the globe doing the exact same  
thing." She paused, all three of them looked sick and pissed. "Do you  
know the death toll is so far, worldwide? 138,092 mortals have died from  
the tests in the last three years. They ah... must not think too highly of  
Immortals, because there isn't a statistic for them, if any did die."  
  
The two Immortals and her father did a slow burn, it was a bigger  
problem than they had thought, and the Watchers had to know what  
was going on. The waitress came to take their order, they were all  
stumped in their chairs, no longer hungry. Methos said, "I'll just have  
another beer. Or three."  
  
"Me, too," Joe said.  
  
Mac agreed.   
  
The waitress was dejected, "You're not going to order a meal?"  
  
"No longer hungry," Duncan said. "We'll tip well, though. Just keep the  
drinks coming."  
  
The waitress looked at Amy, "And you?"  
  
"White wine."  
  
She went off, jealously looking at the other tables filled with people  
ordering $25 meals. They better be good tippers!  
  
Amy waited until she was out of hearing range and whispered to them,  
"Most of the nursing home casualties were children, their ages range  
from sixteen down to three! Three years old! Where are they getting  
these kids? Why kids?"  
  
Methos answered, seemingly without emotion, "They need cells that are  
still in the developmental stage." He leaned over the table to tell her,  
"We need to get Pangent  
on our side."  
  
"Arthur Pangent?" She said, surprised he would bring up her last  
assignment.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Tall, balding, geeky?"  
  
"Yes. We need his help!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
Methos told them, "Because he's recently been a nuclear physicist, a  
chemist, and he has a brain that can scare grown men. He can figure out  
the scientific aspects of what they've been up to."  
  
"A nuclear... what? You can't be serious," Amy said, then saw that he was.  
"That's who I was following? What?!" That outburst drew many stares, so  
they finished their drinks and got out of there, leaving an obscenely  
large tip for the poor waitress.   
  
  
SEACOUVER  
  
As soon as Gerald Nedemeier's door opened, Joe, Duncan and Methos  
were shocked. The frail old man, that insisted they get Joe out of  
Peaceful Rest, who had looked like he was on his death bed, opened the  
door himself. When they walked into his apartment, they didn't see an  
oxygen tank, medical machinery, or any of the trappings he'd been  
hooked up to that was keeping him alive. Gerald was as mobile as a little  
kid and bear hugged Joe with great enthusiasm, "I'm so glad you got  
out of that place!" He looked at Duncan and Methos, and slapped them  
on their backs, "Good job, fellas."  
  
Joe confused, mechanically asked, "What's going on?"  
  
"You tell me," Gerald slyly smiled. "You came to me. Not that I'm not glad  
you see you, Joe. Sit down. Would you like some tea, or maybe whiskey?  
I know it's early in the day, but I don't have to worry about my blood  
pressure or medication anymore, so why not?"  
  
Joe thought he looked about 20 years younger. While Gerald waltzed  
around the apartment, in a very chipper mood, and Joe and Duncan  
watched him with their eyes about to bug out, Methos did something  
that took them all by surprise. He whipped his sword out of his coat,  
grabbed Gerald's hand and sliced it open.   
  
After the yelling died down, Gerald's hand healed. "My God!" Joe  
exclaimed.  
  
"Your God had nothing to do with it," Methos said, more pissed than  
ever, as he cleaned the blood off his blade and resheathed his sword.  
  
Joe looked at the spry, old, retired watcher and said, "Gerald, you're  
going to have to help us."  
  
  
NEW YORK CITY  
  
Amy took a day trip up to New York. She was sure Pangent hadn't  
changed his routine in the least since she last saw him, the day she got  
the call about Joe's heart attack. She even knew where to find him. It was  
12:03 pm, so he had to be on his way from the Metropolitan Museum of  
Art to the benches along 5th Avenue where he would sit to eat the  
bologna sandwich she knew he packed that morning.   
  
She got off the bus, and sure enough, Arthur was sitting on a bench, just  
unwrapping his sandwich. For the first time since she knew who Arthur  
Pangent was, she walked right up to him and sat down beside him. The  
meek immortal smiled pleasantly at her, and reached into his tote bag,  
from which she knew he'd produce a box of apple juice. Wow! Surprise!  
He switched to Minute Maid orange juice that day.   
  
He took a sip after inserting the straw and noticed her stare. She'd seen  
him eat his lunch so many times, usually from across the street, or from  
the steps of the museum. He took another bite of his sandwich, ignoring  
her. Then, when he couldn't take it anymore, he turned repositioning his  
tight body to face her on the bench, "What do you want?"  
  
"I need to talk to you, Mr. Pangent," she said, then extended her hand.  
"You don't know me, but I know you very well. My name is Amy Thomas.  
May we go somewhere to talk privately?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Something very important is happening, and we need your help."  
  
"What?"  
  
That was getting her no where. He was a loner, and she was sure this  
came as a complete surprise to him. She leaned closer and whispered, "I  
know you are an Immortal. We need your help."  
  
He jerked back, "How do you know that?"  
  
"That's what we'll talk about," she calmly said. "I promise I'll explain it all.  
I know you're not a challenger, and I promise that you're safe. But please,  
Mr. Pangent, come with me so we can talk privately."  
  
It took some convincing, but he finally followed her down the sidewalk  
to the hotel that her father had checked into. When they entered the  
hotel, Pangent looked at Amy, wondering if she was a prostitute or  
something. You can see it all in New York, and he had to admit, it was an  
interesting way to proposition him. When they entered the elevator, and  
they were finally out of hearing range of others, she said, "Do you know  
what Watchers are?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Watchers," she repeated. "Do you know what they are?"  
  
"No," he quickly stuttered. "I didn't mean, what, as in I can't hear you. I  
meant what, as in, what are watchers."  
  
Amy had never heard him say more than one word at a time, so she was  
surprised that he talked very fast, tripping over his syllables. She told  
him, "That's what I am. I was assigned to you. I know everything about  
you, kind of," she remembered the info Methos gave her. It had been a  
surprise. His chronicle stated that he was a museum lover since 1918,  
after being turned by an explosion that wasn't explained. "We're to  
watch and record all the Immortals on earth so a clear history can be  
kept of all of their existence. We're not here to hurt you or interfere, we  
just watch and record." She paused smiling, "That's the company line.  
What I'm doing is a violation of every oath I ever took with the  
organization. I am interfering, but I am not going to hurt you."  
  
The doors opened and she pulled his arm to get him out of the elevator.  
It was all so new to him, he didn't know that he had been followed, and  
didn't want to know more. Amy assured him when he walked out into  
the hall, "You have to trust me, I'm not here to hurt you. We just need  
your grey matter to figure out some things."   
  
Hearing that he stopped and tried to get back on the elevator, but the  
doors shut. He pushed at the button, but it was already on it's way  
down. Amy plead, "Please, Mr. Pangent. We need your help. My father  
and a friend are in a room down the hall and we'll explain everything to  
you, then you can decide if you'll help us or not."  
  
She was finally able to direct Arthur to Joe's door. When he saw the two  
men, Joe and Adam, in the room, he was ready to run because he felt a  
buzz and didn't have a sword. He didn't even *own* a sword. Methos  
immediately went to the skittish man and shook his hand. "I'm Adam  
Pierson, Arthur. I'm not challenging, we just need your help. Please,  
come inside."  
  
Methos' tranquil manner was convincing. Arthur walked in, sat down  
and listened, all the while finishing his lunch, seated on chair near the  
door, the others on the other side of the room. They explained all about  
the Watchers and how they knew him. Arthur couldn't get over it, he  
didn't know such a thing existed. Methos told him, "That's not  
important. What is, however, is that you're a chemist, and we need your  
expertise."  
  
He looked at Methos, trying to picture him with longer hair. "Matthew?"  
  
"You remember," Methos grinned. "It's Adam now. Adam Pierson."  
  
"I never liked you," Arthur plainly told him.  
  
Methos laughed, "I know. You're not easy to like, either. But can we work  
together?"  
  
Joe asked, "How did you know each other before?"  
  
Arthur said, "We were neighbors back in the 40's. He surprised me by  
waking me up in the middle of the night with a sword to my throat."  
  
"You surprised *me* by moving into my building while I was away,"  
Methos shrugged.  
  
Amy asked, "Just how good of a chemist are you, Mr. Pangent?"  
  
Arthur looked put out by the simple question. He hadn't practiced in a  
long time, but thought he should at least have been heard of.   
  
"Amy," Methos said. "You're looking at Oppenheimer's right hand man."  
  
Arthur was even more put out by that.  
  
Amy gulped and looked at Arthur in a new light, "You helped develop  
the bomb?"  
  
"Among other things," he said vaguely.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Everything," Methos said. "While I was with the Watchers, I did a little  
check on some old acquaintances."  
  
Joe bopped him on the arm, "You said you didn't do that."  
  
Methos shrugged, "I lied. You're looking at the chief chemist of a little  
company known as Coca-Cola."  
  
Amy tossed out, "But, you were turned in 1918. Coke's been around for  
over a hundred years."  
  
Putting aside the fact that she knew so much about him, when he didn't  
know he had a tail all those years, Arthur said, "I didn't develop the  
original formula. They came to me when they wanted to make a cheaper  
product. The ingredients were cutting into profits, and they wanted to  
switch from cane sugar to corn syrup. Only, it didn't taste the same. The  
composition and effervescence was identical, but if people noticed the  
difference, Pepsi would be the number one soft drink."  
  
"They changed the taste of Coke? How?"  
  
"Do you remember New Coke?"  
  
Amy cringed, "Of course."  
  
"That was my idea," he proudly said. Then quickly explained, talking so  
fast, it was hard to catch his words, "Devise a new product, take the old,  
beloved product off the market, make people vocal about wanting the  
old stuff back, wait a little while so people actually forget what the  
original, more expensive Coke tasted like, release the new cheaper  
'original' Coke, sales go through the roof, you have your goodwill back  
with the consumers, Pepsi is still number two, and a cheaper product is  
on the market, making profits soar."  
  
Joe spouted, "You're so pleased with yourself. I was one of those people  
rioting back in 1985 when they took Coke off the market."  
  
Arthur simply asked him, "Are you still drinking Coke?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It worked. That's what I was hired for," Arthur beamed. Then he  
saddened. "You don't want me to devise some formula for you, do you?"  
  
"No," Methos assured him. "We only--."  
  
"Good," Arthur cut him off. "Because I'm through with the manufacture  
of chemicals or anecdotes or vaccines. I *won't* do it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"HIV," he slowly admitted.  
  
Amy was confused, "You have AIDS? That's impossible."  
  
"I think I inadvertently spread it throughout Africa." Arthur fidgeted in  
his seat. To reveal his deepest, darkest secret to a bunch of strangers was  
painful.   
  
"We can't be a carrier, either," Methos slowly stated.  
  
"No, but I could...," Arthur started to weep softly. He stood and shook his  
head, it was too painful. "I can't talk about it. I can't help you. I'm going  
now."  
  
Amy stood with him and urged, "Wait! We need you."  
  
"No," Arthur glumly replied. "I can't."  
  
Methos put himself in Arthur's pathway to the door. "You weren't  
experimenting on people with the AIDS virus, were you? Injecting them  
with it to see what would happen?"  
  
"No!" Arthur was sick that he would even suggest such a thing. He tried  
to move him aside.  
  
Methos remained planted in his spot, "Have you worked with Clarissa  
Barrymore?"  
  
"I've never heard of her. Let me out," Arthur wailed. "You said I could  
make the choice whether or not to help you. I want out!"  
  
Joe erupted,"You're not going anywhere until you tell us what you did. It  
seems like you are on the same level with Barrymore, and we can't have  
you walking around testing people!"   
  
"I tried to help! I really *did*." Arthur collapsed in grief. "Science is a  
beautiful thing. It was my life. I devoted myself to it and it's  
advancement. I was hired to formulate an inexpensive vaccine against  
polio for the industrialized nations of Africa. My vaccine wiped out 40  
million Africans, making the AIDS epidemic spread. This was before we  
knew where the virus came from. My sole purpose was to prevent  
*polio*... instead, I spread something far worse."  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
"My vaccine worked. Polio doesn't exist in the areas where it was  
administered. But one of it's ingredients was monkey blood, which we  
later found out was a prime candidate for where the AIDS virus came  
from. All the people who were vaccinated against polio, were infected  
with HIV. I didn't know it's potency because, to be quite frank, we hadn't  
heard of the AIDS virus at that time. If we had... we didn't know... the  
only reason I'm still here is because I'm Immortal. All my colleagues that  
worked on the vaccination are dead. They died within 10 years of  
acquiring AIDS. I'm not developing *anything* more."  
  
Amy was stunned, "Your chronicle is so wrong."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Your chronicle, your history on the planet. Usually everything is  
recorded, but that's... news to me and I've been watching you for three  
years."  
  
"I certainly don't want to be remembered as the man who spread AIDS."  
  
"Is that why you're going to visit museums for the rest of your life?"  
  
"Science is beauty," Arthur said. "But art fills the soul. Mine needs filling."  
  
Methos urged him to help them, "Here's the perfect opportunity to save  
people and figure out what they've done to the ones still living. To Joe  
here."  
  
"No, I can't possibly," Arthur quickly, adamantly shook his head no.  
  
Methos continued, "To find out what their genetic makeup is. Scientists  
are developing a way to make mortals Immortal. They're killing many,  
including children, they've been testing for how long, Amy?"  
  
Joe added, with a solemn tone, "This is the fourth year of the Eureka  
Project."  
  
"They've been at it for four years and they've already killed 138,000  
people so far," Methos forcefully told Arthur. "Granted, that's not the  
AIDS epidemic, but it's a start. Come to Washington state with us and  
help stop it."  
  
  
SEACOUVER  
  
Meanwhile, Mac went to see Penelope Rice. She was on duty at the  
Peaceful Rest Nursing Home the night they broke Joe out, and was listed  
on the sheet Amy printed out. When she answered the door, Penelope  
recognized Duncan right away and wondered why a big wheel from her  
former place of employment would be calling on her. She flinched, "Mr.  
Holloway, what... why...?"  
  
"I was posing as James Tucker, Ms. Rice," Duncan said, extending his  
hand in greeting. "My real name is Duncan MacLeod. May I come in and  
talk to you?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I need information on the Peaceful Rest Nursing Home and you're the  
only one that I can get to even listen when I introduce myself." He held  
up the printout so she could see it, there were a myriad of crossed out  
names.   
  
"I don't think so," Penelope said, slowly shutting the door, wondering  
why someone would be checking up on a bankrupt nursing home. She  
didn't have anything to do with bookkeeping.  
  
"Please," Duncan laid his hand on the door to keep it ajar. "I just need a  
moment of your time. That's all. I promise."  
  
She let him in and Duncan laid it all out for her over a cup of coffee at  
the dining room table with her kids playing in the living room. He only  
told her what she needed to know to get her to divulge information. She  
was shocked to discover that the home was used for testing and that the  
reason it was closed, was because it had been found out. "I heard they  
went through Chapter 11."  
  
Duncan shook his head. "They did no such thing. I was just at the court  
house looking for paperwork. They just shut the doors and let you all go  
so nobody would be suspicious, because we were too close to the  
truth."  
  
He had told her about an organization called the Watchers and let her  
believe that it was a Big Brother type deal, not that their job was to  
watch a species known as Immortals, one of which was actually sitting at  
her table. The baby started crying and she changed his diaper while she  
digested all that MacLeod had told her.  
  
"Can you give me any information on the people you worked for, where  
they may be now, any co-workers that you've kept in touch with, who  
might have seen more sensitive records than you?"  
  
When she was finished, she put the baby on his hands and knees and he  
crawled away . Penelope shook her head, "I didn't really make friends  
with a lot of them, and I haven't seen any of them since I left."  
  
"When you were laid off, did you get any sort of severance package? Did  
you save any paycheck stubs?"  
  
She smiled. "I did. A *great* severance package. That's why I'm only  
working part time now."  
  
"How were you let go?"  
  
"I went to work and there were a tons of semis and ambulances around.  
They wouldn't even let us into the building to get our personal effects.  
They were mailed to all of us. Everything was in the box, even the  
pictures of my kids and cat, so I didn't make a fuss."  
  
She thought, "You know, my last actual paycheck was for my usual  
amount, even though I only put in one day and my severance check  
came from a different address than the others, not the headquarters."  
  
"Do you remember the address?"  
  
"No, and I deposited the check." Duncan hung his head that it was yet  
another dead end. She brightly said, "But, I do have one great friend, and  
she works at my bank. If I remember right, the check was from the same  
bank I belong to. She could look it up on microfiche and see if there are  
any records."  
  
"That would be great," Duncan smiled, having grown tired of going  
down wrong roads or metaphorically hitting his head against the wall  
looking for information.  
  
Penelope excused herself and called Noreen and asked her to look it up.  
Duncan smiled at her kids in the living room, bopping around and  
watching a video on TV. Children just like these were sacrificed for  
testing, and the testing hadn't gotten anywhere. At least, that's what he  
hoped. They had certainly done something to Gerald. When she got off  
the phone, she told him, "Noreen is going to look it up."  
  
He asked her, "Do you still have the pay stub for the severance check?"  
  
She lightly smiled and said, "My husband is a completely anal pack-rat,  
we have to have it somewhere, the only trouble is, I don't know his filing  
system."  
  
"How big a filing system can he have?"  
  
Her eyebrows hiked up and the smile grew bigger, "You'd be surprised,  
Mr. MacLeod."  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"At work."  
  
"Can you call and ask him if he knows where it might be if he did keep  
it?"  
  
"He can't take calls at work, only in an emergency. Does this qualify as  
that? He'll be home about 6:30."  
  
Duncan said, "Nah, I can come back then if you don't mind." He stood,  
then remembered what she said, "They mailed you your possessions?  
Do you still have that box?"  
  
"I'm sure I do, down stairs." She told her oldest child, "Janie, watch your  
brothers. I'll be downstairs for a little while."  
  
"Okay Mommy," they heard from the seven year old who kept her eyes  
glued on the TV.  
  
On the way down the stairs, Penelope mentioned, "That's just awful.  
They were testing on those poor children? We were told they were  
recuperating from major surgery. The older patients would mention  
tests, but I thought they were just senile."  
  
She went into their storage room and turned on the light. It was a  
massive room with shelves on all the walls, boxes lined up, clearly  
labeled with label maker tapes, and it seemed to Duncan, that the boxes  
were in alphabetical order. Penelope looked them all over and pulled a  
few out to see their sides, trying to remember what the cardboard box  
looked like. Duncan looked them over, but they all seemed to be food  
boxes from a grocery store.   
  
Penelope pulled out a box and set it on the table in the middle of the  
room. "This is it," her finger tracing the cut marks on the top of the flaps.  
"We had to cut through all the tape, they really packed it well."  
  
Privacy was imperative to anyone working for the Watchers, Duncan  
thought and noticed the side of it. "This serial number. It's not from the  
shipping company, is it?"  
  
"No, the shipping label is here," she pointed to the top flap.   
  
He smiled, it was the first real clue he'd uncovered. He took out his  
notebook and wrote the serial number down, ASP8730-283.  
  
Noreen called back with three addresses for the account in question.  
Penelope wrote them down as they were read off. The first for the  
Peaceful Rest Nursing Home, the second was what Duncan recognized  
as Watcher Headquarters in Seacouver, the third was what caught  
Penelope's attention. "That's the one, Rockefeller Street. I didn't even  
know there was a Rockefeller Street in Seacouver. Does that help?"  
  
"I'll check it out. Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Rice."  
  
  
CHARLOTTE WATCHER BUREAU  
  
Duncan called Amy with the serial number to see if she could find  
anything on the database. Her search brought her to more links, eight  
password screens in all during the search that Alexa was able to  
conquer. Finally, she found something. A massive file opened and it  
scrolled down through an incomprehensible string of mathematical and  
scientific equations, she had no idea what she was looking at. It had to  
be the Mother Lode!   
  
It took a long time for the entire file to finish downloading to RAM, and  
she couldn't print it out. She muttered a 'Damn' and paced, there was no  
way she would be able to type out all that information on the typewriter  
she had sitting alongside the computer for the purpose of transferring  
'For Eyes Only' information to hard copy. Arthur wasn't there to translate  
it.   
  
Amy took a deep breath, inserted a piece of paper in the typewriter,  
cracked her knuckles, and started typing. After painstakingly typing out  
three pages of information, she couldn't even see straight anymore. She  
decided that it was enough of a clue to what the data was, and clicked  
back a few screens and quickly scanned them again clicking on any links  
that she missed before.   
  
She came across the personnel file for Clarissa Barrymore, but it was old  
and didn't give any new information, at first glance. Just before closing  
the screen, she saw a list of Barrymore's next of kin.  
  
  
SEACOUVER  
  
After repeated assurances to Arthur Pangent that he wasn't expected to  
devise any new formulas, only to figure out what chemistry, gene  
therapy and tests had been done already, he agreed to help them out.  
The idea that mortals had the audacity to test on Immortals and use  
mortals as guinea pigs made him as angry as MacLeod and Methos. Even  
more so. Science shouldn't be used to counteract nature, just to help it  
along. They had to protect their species, along with the innocent people  
sacrificed, including and most especially, the children.  
  
Methos, Joe and Arthur arrive in Seacouver to follow up on Amy's lead  
for Clarissa Barrymore's next of kin, her ex-husband, Martin. Before  
knocking on his door, they quickly discussed how to handle the man,  
and what they would do if he wasn't willing to tell them anything.  
Arthur thought he could be persuasive when push came to shove, Joe  
figured his gun would talk louder than words. Methos thought good old  
fashioned Chinese water torture just might do the trick.   
  
Preparations aside, as it turned out, Martin Barrymore hated his ex-wife  
and was only too willing to spill the beans. He had worked to put her  
through college and while she got her master's degree, then was a stay  
at home Dad to their ungrateful daughter, only to have Clarissa leave  
him and their daughter Clancy, when she was rich and settled in her  
profession. He called her a 'battle ax' during the conversation, and that  
was one of the nicer adjectives he used. The bitter man sat at the dining  
room table and told them, ad nauseam, all about their unfortunate  
marriage.  
  
They prodded Martin to get to the present, to provide any information  
he could on her current whereabouts. "The only thing I can say is she  
always paid child support for Clancy," Martin said as he sipped his coffee.  
"Nothing for me, even though every dollar she made is because of me."  
  
Methos was past the point of caring and wondering if they'd hit a dead  
end, and Martin's last remark ticked him off. He shouted, "Every dollar  
she's made in the past few years has been to the detriment of innocent  
people!" Joe, Arthur and Martin sat back at the abrupt statement, and  
the force with which Methos stated it. "Enough of old home week,"  
Methos sneered, leaning threateningly close to Martin, "What's her  
address?"  
  
"I don't know," Martin choked, suddenly very uncomfortable with the  
man who's eyes changed instantly. All of a sudden, he seemed to be  
capable of calling out the hounds of hell if he so desired.  
  
"She paid child support," Methos continued. "You *have* to know where  
she lives."  
  
"The last check came through almost ten years ago," Martin argued,  
"Clancy's 27 years old. She's through college and is married with a child."  
  
Joe settled Methos down and asked, "Will you give us Clancy's address?"  
  
"What for?" Martin protectively said, "Clancy has nothing to do with her  
mother."  
  
"Then why won't you tell us?" Methos muttered.  
  
"It won't help you and my daughter is entitled to her privacy."  
  
Arthur calmly said, "Mr. Barrymore, we just want to ask the same  
questions of her that we have asked of you. If Clancy decides to slam the  
door in our face, we'll walk away. What Clarissa has been doing is highly  
classified, there are high fatalities, and it must be stopped."  
  
"Call the cops," Martin shrugged. "Don't involve my daughter."  
  
They'd hit a brick wall. They couldn't explain that they needed to be  
covert because they couldn't tell him about immortality and certainly  
couldn't have the police fishing around and finding it out. If Martin had  
mentioned Immortality, they would have expanded the conversation,  
but he hadn't.   
  
Arthur looked at the fireplace mantel in the living room, visible from the  
dining area. He saw pictures of a girl at various stages of her life. He  
quickly picked up at framed photograph of Clancy as a toddler and held  
it up in front of Marvin, and innocently asked, "How old was your  
daughter in this picture?"  
  
"About three," Martin smiled as he gazed at the photograph. Martin was  
holding her in his arms in front of Mount Rushmore. "It was the first trip  
she and I took," his smiled widened with the remembrance.  
  
Arthur quietly said, "Three years old, Mr. Barrymore. Some of the  
fatalities that were the by- product of your ex-wife's work were three  
year olds, just like your daughter in this picture. Children were poked  
and prodded, had DNA samples from blood and skin and hair taken from  
them without permission, and foreign anti-bodies were injected back  
into them. Three years old, Mr. Barrymore. It's still going on. Give your  
daughter respect by allowing her to make up her own mind about  
whether she will help us or not."  
  
"She'd tell you the same thing I did," Martin sadly said, looking only at  
his daughter in that photograph. "She didn't get along with her mother,  
either."  
  
"But she may know something, and may want to give us information  
that could help us stop your ex-wife's research," Arthur kept  
encouraging him to divulge information. "How old is your grandchild?"  
  
"Four," Martin softly said.  
  
There was silence as Martin quietly teared up, he was embarrassed. They  
let him process the horror that Clarissa had been working on for so long.  
He finally spoke, "Chicago. Clancy lives in Chicago on Broad Street. I've  
got the address in my book. I'll go get it," Martin said as he placed the  
photograph back on the mantel.  
  
Methos and Joe looked at Arthur and slowly, respectfully nodded to him  
acknowledging how well he handled the man. Methos was so angry  
about it all, he was a little wistful that Chinese Water Torture wasn't  
needed, but Arthur did good.  
  
As soon as they had Clancy's address and left Martin's house, Methos  
called Duncan on the cell. "What did you find out," Duncan quickly  
asked.  
  
"Not much with the ex-husband, but maybe the daughter would know  
more about Barrymore's whereabouts. She lives in Chicago."  
  
"I guess someone has to go to Chicago to talk to her," Duncan said as he  
passed by the Rockefeller address he got from the check sent to  
Penelope. "I found out the current address of Peaceful Rest, but it's  
nothing but an old warehouse with security fencing. I don't see  
anything resembling a company, let alone a lab."  
  
Methos said, "Security fencing? There must be something there."  
  
Duncan got out of the T Bird and walked to the pristine steel wire fence  
with Keep Out, Warning, and High Voltage signs posted along the side.  
He didn't see any people or guards around the perimeter, so he picked  
up a stick and tossed it at the fence. It only dropped harmlessly to the  
ground. There were some red warning lights along the top of the fence  
that were on, so he took a deep breath and prepared himself for a hell of  
a shock if that fence was active. "Pray for me," Duncan muttered into the  
phone.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Duncan clamped his hand on the fence and waited for the volts to flow  
through him, but nothing happened. He told Methos over the cell, "The  
fence is a ruse. There's something here but I can't see it. I'm going to  
check it out."  
  
Methos got into the car, still talking on the phone, "Does the fence look  
new, or has it been there for a while?"  
  
"It's not rusted from weather," Duncan said. "The warehouse looks like  
it's been here for decades. There's weeds overgrowing the concrete  
roads and parking lot. It could be nothing, but I'm going to climb over  
and check it out. Talk later."  
  
Methos hung up and looked at Joe and Arthur, "Well, who's going to  
Chicago?"  
  
Joe said without hesitation, "You are."  
  
"Why me?" Methos was thinking more along the lines of driving over to  
Rockefeller Street to check it out with MacLeod. He had always been  
better at covertly breaking into buildings, had more years of practice  
than MacLeod, and since he was in the midst of procuring information  
to put a stop the bad guys, he wanted to get his hands dirty.  
  
Arthur said, "I'm going to take some samples from Joe to see what they  
might have done to him already, so that leaves you." That said, he  
immediately turned his attention away from Methos. "Joe, I have an old  
friend who's a researcher over at the University of Washington School of  
Medicine, he'll let me use his facilities. Do you mind if I find out what  
they've done?"  
  
Joe thought it over, he had vivid memories of all the blood tests and  
pricks he'd endured at the home. "How many samples do you have to  
take?"  
  
"If I get enough blood, only one."  
  
Methos said, "You can't tell the researcher what you're working on."  
  
Arthur hitched up an eyebrow to let him know he wasn't born yesterday.  
"I think I can figure that out myself, Adam!" He turned his attention back  
to Joe, "We need to get Gerald too, so I can compare any anomalies."  
  
Methos started the car, "I guess I'm going to Chicago."  
  
Arthur said, "In fact, let me drive, and we'll drop you off at the airport on  
our way to pick up Gerald."  
  
"I can drive to the airport," Methos said testily, not budging from the  
driver's seat.   
  
  
ROCKEFELLER STREET WAREHOUSE  
  
Duncan walked across the field to the warehouse, and thought he felt  
an immortal buzz. Just for an instant, it was very faint. He looked around,  
there wasn't anyone within his sensing range. He was closer to the  
warehouse, so it could have come from there, or it could be nothing, it  
didn't last that long. He chalked it up to the fact that his adrenalin was  
pumping as he ran towards the double doors of the warehouse.  
  
Inside, Duncan looked around and sneezed from the dust and cobwebs.  
After walking through the place with it's beams and pillars exposed, he  
didn't sense or see anything. Duncan wished he had a crowbar or lock  
picking devise with him when he reached the steel, vault-like door in the  
middle of the warehouse. There was a killer deadbolt, and no  
combination pad to tamper with. It was impenetrable with only his bare  
hands and katana.   
  
Even though he had crept across the weeds to the building in the  
middle of the day, no one had accosted him. There didn't seemed to be  
anyone around. Other than the steel door, there wasn't anything to see  
in the old, dark, electricity free building. In fact, it seemed too sterile. It  
was old, he could see the sky poking through the holes in the walls,  
there was dust on the wooden floor a couple of inches thick, except for  
what looked like a beaten path from the sliding front doors to the locked  
steel door.   
  
Duncan put his ear against it, and couldn't hear a thing. The only thing  
he sensed was a slight hum, that could have been from some sort of   
machinery running inside. He took out his cell phone to report his lack of  
findings and pressed speed dial for Methos' number, but there wasn't any  
answer. He dialed Joe's phone, and Joe told him about Methos' quick  
trip and that he was on his way to become a lab rat again. After it was  
explained that Joe's testing was voluntary, Duncan told him that he was  
going wait around the warehouse to see if anything happened.  
  
  
WARREN G. MAGNUSON HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER  
  
Arthur reacquainted himself with his old friend, Dr. John Miller, then  
went right to work obtaining samples from Joe and Gerald while Miller  
gave them both a physical and stress test. While Joe was on the  
treadmill, he was so impressed with his new legs that he actually forgot  
they weren't his own and started running, then lost his balance. Miller  
rushed to him to help him up after he fell off, saying, "Easy there."  
  
Joe, slightly embarrassed, got to his feet and pulled up his pant legs to  
see if his prosthetics had been ruined during the fall or from when he  
rolled off the running treadmill. Miller knelt down to give them the once  
over, and said, "I'm so impressed with these prosthetics. Fantastic," he  
mildly shook his head in amazement. "I don't see any damage."  
  
"Good," Joe said, then he was ready to start again on the treadmill.   
  
"I think I have enough information for the time being," Miller said as he  
pulled the sensors off Joe's chest and head. "Just sit and relax while I run  
it through the computer. Mr. Nedemeier, you can stop now."  
  
Gerald kept on running, "Hell, I'm just warming up." Sweat dripped off  
his face and down his bare chest, hooked up with sensor pads. It took  
the combined effort of both Joe and Miller to get him off the treadmill  
before he passed out. He reluctantly stopped but assured them, "I could  
run a marathon, lads."  
  
  
ROCKEFELLER STREET WAREHOUSE  
  
Duncan picked out a spot in the far corner inside the warehouse and  
waited for most of the day to see if anything would happen. He knew it  
could be a complete waste of time, but it was one of the few precious  
leads they had. He was certain there was machinery working behind  
that steel door and someone would have to at least check on it. The light  
beams through the holes in the walls slowly faded over the course of the  
day and then were gone, making the entire warehouse black as the ace  
of spades.  
  
He'd kept in touch by cell with Joe and Amy, who still hadn't been able  
to find out anything about the serial number he'd given her, but she  
had typed out everything she had access to in the file. She wanted to  
give Arthur as much information as she could. What she was typing  
didn't make a lick of sense to her, but she knew Arthur could decipher it.  
She called Duncan to see where Arthur was, and to get a FAX number so  
she could send off the day's worth of completed typing, even though it  
was still only the tip of the iceberg.   
  
After calling Joe's cell to get the FAX number at the University and  
calling Amy back with the information, just so that he'd have something  
to do, Duncan sat again in the niche in the wall that was probably an old  
closet that had lost it's door years before. Boredom was once again  
creeping in so he took out his cell and played one of it's loaded games,  
"Snake", to pass the time. Then the cell rang. "MacLeod," he quickly  
answered.  
  
Methos said, "I'm back in town and have Clarissa's address!"  
  
"You came back from Chicago with the address?"  
  
"Yes," he proudly said.  
  
Duncan was miffed, "Well, Adam! I've been sitting here with nothing to  
do almost all day, why didn't you tell me over the phone and I could  
have checked it out by now!"  
  
Methos moaned, "I wanted to go along. *I* got the address and had to  
endure not *one*, but *two* flights. Do you know how hard it is to get a  
cab at O'Hare? Then I guess I'm not as persuasive as Pangent can be with  
next of kin because she clammed up, so I had to be on my best behavior,  
and you know how much I hate that. Then, I felt an Immortal at the  
airport and I left my 'friend' in the trunk at Seacouver Airport because I  
thought I'd be in and out of Chicago without anyone knowing--."  
  
Duncan cut him off, "Where does she live?"  
  
"Where are you? I'll come and pick you up," Methos said instead.  
  
Duncan heard a large vehicle outside the warehouse drive up and park  
just in front of the sliding doors. "Talk later," he whispered into the cell  
and shut it off, in case Methos called back, he didn't want anyone to hear  
it and discover he was there.  
  
There was a loud clank and the sliding of metal as the door opened and  
Duncan slid deeper into the closet so he wouldn't be revealed by the  
light in the yard or the flashlight beams that poured in through the  
open door. There was a passenger bus parked so it's door was lined up  
with the door of the warehouse. Duncan peeked around the edge of the  
closet to see if any patients were being unloaded. Instead, he heard  
beeps and clanks, then a loud whoosh as the locked steel door opened.  
A man stood at the door with a flashlight concentrated on the entrance,  
and people wearing white lab coats filed out through the steel door and  
got on the bus.   
  
The last one out turned and pushed some buttons on the side panel of  
the steel door then, with the help of the guy Duncan figured was the  
bus driver, closed and locked it. They were talking on the way to the exit,  
but Duncan couldn't make out any details of their conversation. The  
sliding door was closed and the bus drove off.  
  
Duncan walked back to the steel door, and it was again locked up tight.  
There was definitely something behind there, and they had to find out  
what it was. He got on the cell and called Methos, who was a little more  
than peeved at being hung up on. "Come to the warehouse on  
Rockefeller Street and bring your lock picking implements."  
  
"We were going to pay a visit to Barrymore."  
  
"She's not going to be moving in the next couple of hours, there's a  
mother of a lock to pick here."  
  
"I'm going to swing by Barrymore's on the way."  
  
"Just hurry," Duncan said. "And bring some food, I'm starving."  
  
  
WARREN G. MAGNUSON HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER  
  
Arthur had to be persuasive to make sure Miller wouldn't hover around  
Joe and Gerald's samples as he ran tests on them. The scientist was  
inquisitive and knew some of Arthur's illustrious history, and so he just  
knew it was something important. Arthur had to mention the concept of  
protecting your work product, and instead of being offended, Miller  
agreed and only asked that he'd be let in on what he was working on  
before it went public.   
  
Arthur, knowing that would never happen, instantly agreed, even told  
him he'd get partial credit for the use of the facilities. Holing themselves  
up in the small lab, Arthur told Joe and Gerald his findings. "I found  
strange cells in both of you" he said, holding up two magnified pictures  
he'd taken of the blue cells he had found in their blood. "They're larger  
in size in your blood, Mr. Nedemeier, but other than size, they're exactly  
the same as the cells in your blood, Mr. Dawson."  
  
"Arthur," Joe said. "You can call me Joe."  
  
Arthur smiled. "Okay. Both of your white cell counts are off the scale. So,  
your immune systems are a wonder. I don't think either of you will ever  
get a cold again. How long were you at the home, Mr... Gerald?" Arthur  
asked.  
  
"A couple of years."  
  
"And you, Joe?"  
  
"A couple of months."  
  
"That could explain the difference in the size of the cells, but I can't  
figure out if they are totally different." He turned to look at them both,  
"What I would like to do, is cut you both to see what happens."  
  
"You guys already did that," Gerald said. "I healed."  
  
"In a controlled environment," Arthur said.  
  
"I'm game," Gerald said, pushing up his sleeve.  
  
"Joe? Do you mind?" Arthur asked.  
  
"You think I'm going to heal, too?"  
  
"That's what we'll find out."  
  
Joe nodded okay and smirked, "Just don't cut my jugular or anything."  
  
Arthur took a scalpel, had them both lay their hands palms up on the  
table in front of them, and set up high lighting and a camcorder to  
capture the experiment. He made sure he had a first aid kit ready in case  
he needed to stop the flow of blood on either of them. The first time  
Gerald was cut and healed might have been a fluke. "Are you ready?" he  
asked them.  
  
They both nodded their heads. Arthur took a hold of Gerald's hand and  
made a slit about an inch long. Then he immediately cut Joe's hand to  
see how they both reacted to being wounded. Before he had finished  
with Joe, Gerald's hand was already healed. Joe's hand just kept on  
bleeding. His eyes flickered between his own bleeding hand and  
Gerald's, as Arthur wiped off all traces of blood on the healed cut.  
  
After a couple of minutes, Arthur worried that he'd need to put stitches  
in Joe's hand, but it finally stopped bleeding on it's own. The cut didn't  
heal, so Arthur bound it in gauze. Arthur stared at Gerald, he had never  
felt an immortal buzz from him, or even a pre-immortal hum. He asked  
him, "Do you feel me?"  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"Then you don't." Arthur was perplexed. "Gerald, you have the healing  
capabilities of an Immortal, but you haven't experienced your first death,  
or have you?"  
  
"I've never died."  
  
"You don't emit an immortal sensation, your cells aren't all that different  
from Joe's, but he doesn't exhibit the healing capabilities."  
  
Joe offered an explanation, "We were at different stages of the testing?"  
  
"Yes, but what stages? What testing? The results of the cell test will at  
least tell me what the cells are, but it will take a couple of days." Arthur  
sat back with his hand on his chin and mused, "Artificial Immortality..."  
  
Gerald wondered, "Since I heal, if I die, will I revive?"  
  
"We're not going to chance it by killing you to find out, Mr. Nedemeier."  
  
"But think of what the benefits would be if I revived, or if I didn't," Gerald  
excitedly argued. "I'm 81 years old. I feel fantastic for the first time in  
years, but I've lived my life. And I might come back! Let's try it."  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Okay," Gerald muttered, dejected.  
  
Miller came in with 20 pages of FAX paper. "This just came for you."  
  
Arthur gasped. He'd known that the FAX was going to come through,  
and forgot to hover around the machine so no one else could read  
Amy's findings. Arthur asked, "You didn't read that, did you?"  
  
"I scanned it, but it doesn't make any sense," Miller answered. "What in  
the world are you doing?"  
  
Arthur snatched the FAX pages out of his hands and said, "I'll let you  
know before it goes public."  
  
  
ROCKEFELLER STREET WAREHOUSE  
  
Methos parked his sedan behind the T Bird and climbed over the fence  
with a bag of McDonald's for the hungry Highlander and the myriad of  
lock-picking implements he'd acquired over the years. When he slid  
open the double doors, he turned on a flashlight to find Duncan still  
trying to pick the lock on the steel door with a little piece of wire he  
found in the dark warehouse. Methos told him, "Stand aside, the master  
is here."  
  
Duncan stepped aside saying, "I think I almost have it, I heard a couple of  
clicks."  
  
Methos took the spindly wire out of the lock and tossed it on the floor.  
He gave Duncan the flashlight, "Be useful," he said.  
  
Duncan didn't like his tone and shined the light in Methos' eyes. "Okay, I  
deserved that," Methos shook off the stars in his eyes. He took a gunpick  
out of his bag and tested the size of the key on the lock. He replaced it  
with another, larger one and reinserted it into the lock. He cocked the  
pickgun and pulled the trigger. The lock was open and the gun jerked  
back out of it. Methos smiled and put the gun back in his bag, then they  
both swung open the door. It was only then that they saw the security  
code pad on the side of it and waited for the sirens. Duncan said, "It's  
probably a silent alarm. We're going to have company."  
  
Methos sifted through his bag and pulled out a micro camera, then gave  
Duncan the bag and took the flashlight. "Keep watch. There's a gun in  
there if you need it. I'll be right back."  
  
Methos was already gone down the darkened hall when Duncan  
sputtered, "Well, I wanted to... I sat here all day and you get to go in?"  
  
He went to the sliding door and shut it so that the opening was only a  
few inches wide in case any cops came. It would also be easier to kept a  
lookout for anyone who might have been alerted by the alarm, if there  
was one on the security pad. His car was on the far side of the empty  
field, so no one would assume its being parked there had anything to do  
with the break in. Then Duncan unwrapped the Quarter Pounder with  
cheese and finished it in two bites.  
  
Headlights appeared from the south and Duncan tensed, but he didn't  
hear sirens. He was going to call to Methos to hurry up when he jumped,  
someone touched his shoulder. "God!" he tried to catch his breath, then  
said, "That was fast. What did you find?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Methos said. "I took pictures and a couple of vials for  
Arthur, and some papers that were sitting around. Let's go."  
  
"But that was fast."  
  
"I told you," Methos shrugged with a winning smile, "I'm good."  
  
They had just climbed back over the fence and got to their cars, when  
two black minivans with blacked out windows, roared past them to the  
front gate and screeched to a stop. Duncan called Methos on the cell,  
"They aren't very quick, are they?"  
  
"Makes it easier for the ones breaking in," Methos said.  
  
Duncan ate his fries and said, "We'll go to Arthur with the vials and we'll  
have to find a dark room to get the film developed."  
  
"My place."  
  
"You have a dark room?"  
  
"Of course, doesn't everyone," Methos said as he followed Duncan's T  
Bird.  
  
  
WARREN G. MAGNUSON HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER  
  
Arthur poured over the FAX while Gerald and Joe waited on  
uncomfortable stools in the lab. Joe couldn't help thinking about how  
close he was to being immortal. He felt the wound that still hurt under  
the bandaging on his hand. Not that he wanted that, not at all! He would  
be a 'half breed'. He was supposed to be mortal, he didn't want to be  
converted into an immortal, he didn't think that was even possible. He  
was convinced that Barrymore's science was evil, resulting in the killing  
of innocent people, but wouldn't make progress.   
  
Still, he couldn't help thinking, 'To be immortal...' He'd always thought  
that when you're done with life, you're done. He could tell Gerald was  
still a little giddy about his healing abilities. Gerald was cutting himself  
on the finger just to see himself heal, and suck off the blood.   
  
Methos had given Duncan the vials to drop off with Arthur so he could  
get right home and develop the film. When Duncan made his  
appearance in the lab, Arthur was impressed by his findings, "They're  
replacing the body's carbon amounts with ammonium. I don't see how  
that wouldn't kill people outright. That must be the hybrid cells I found  
in both of your blood. A new organic chemical."  
  
"Have you figured out what they've been going?" Duncan asked.  
  
Arthur admitted, "It could take *years* to figure this data out. Or, maybe  
Amy mistyped. Some of these equations don't make any sense at all."  
  
Miller came in again and Arthur immediately turned over the pages of  
the FAX, making him smile. "I'm not snooping around, Art," Miller said.  
"It's just that it's late and I'm locking up."  
  
Duncan said, "I'll take you home, Gerald. And Joe, you and I have an  
address to check out."  
  
"Who's?"  
  
"Clarissa Barrymore's."  
  
"Good work," Joe smiled.   
  
Gerald said, "I want to go, too."  
  
"No," Duncan told him.  
  
"She poked and tested me, I should at least get to meet her face to face."  
  
"I can take Gerald home," Arthur said. "In fact, I need a place to stay and  
hoped I could crash on your couch, Mr. Nedemeier, and I want to keep  
looking over this data," he folded the FAX pages and put them in his  
coat jacket.  
  
Gerald hopefully asked Arthur, "Are you going to kill me?"  
  
Miller and Duncan were shocked. "What?!"  
  
Arthur only smiled, shook his head, "No, I'm not going to kill you,  
Gerald."  
  
Arthur asked Miller for a refrigerated case for his samples and the vials  
that Methos had acquired. Miller told him that his things were safe, but  
Arthur didn't want any of it out of his sight. Miller produced a case for  
him. He was salivating to find out what all the hoopla was about, and  
what the two older guys and the large man with a pony tail had to do  
with it.  
  
When they were in the car, Duncan's cell rang. Methos told him, "Get  
over to the warehouse."  
  
"We were going to go visit with Barrymore."  
  
"This is more important. Go to the warehouse and bring some artillery."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Now, I'm waiting!" Methos yelled.  
  
"Have you been kidnaped?"  
  
"I saw something in the pictures and we need to take another look. Meet  
me at the warehouse. I've only got a couple of handguns in case we have  
company, so have Joe and Gerald bring their sidearms."  
  
  
ROCKEFELLER STREET WAREHOUSE  
  
Methos waited in the shadows by the sliding door for the others to join  
him. From his hiding place by some trash cans he was able to hold the  
pictures out in front of him to look them over, using the light from a  
street lamp. Earlier when he had quickly gone through what turned out  
to be an underground lab, he noticed some doors, but didn't give them  
another thought. He'd just wanted to get a few pictures and get out of  
there. They could always come back. What he hadn't noticed about the  
doors was that they had even more impressive locks than the steel door  
did. He situated his bag at his feet and hoped they'd get there soon, he  
was itching to find out what was behind those locked doors.  
  
Even though the alarm had gone off earlier, Methos was surprised to see  
that there was no one hanging around. But then, if someone was to  
break in, it wasn't very likely that they'd be back so soon. Watchers, he  
shook his head. They have fire power, but they don't know how to  
manage it.  
  
Duncan parked the T Bird on a side street where Joe and Gerald would  
be able to keep a visual on the front gate in case they had visitors. He  
put a Beretta in his jacket pocket and made sure the two men and Arthur  
were set. Arthur patted his jacket pocket. It contained a gun he got from  
Gerald, and they walked to the gate and climbed over.   
  
Methos hurried them through the sliding door and slammed it shut  
behind them. "In case I can't interrupt the security pad, you're willing to  
shoot, aren't you?" he asked Arthur.  
  
"I'll kill whoever tries to stop us, Adam."  
  
"How good is your aim?" Methos asked while he gunpicked the steel  
door.  
  
"I'm pretty good."  
  
"Just so you don't hit me," Methos muttered as he took out a technical  
contraption from his bag and plugged it into the card slide under the  
key pad on the side of the door. He flipped the switch, and combinations  
of numbers glowed on the green readout as it zeroed in on the correct  
code.  
  
"You're looking at a champion marksman, Adam. I got a hundred dollar  
prize," Arthur proudly stated.  
  
"A hundred dollars? And when was this?"  
  
"1940," he had to acknowledge.  
  
"And have you fired a gun since then?" Duncan was worried.  
  
"No," Arthur shrugged. "But it's like riding a bike, right? I can't be that  
bad."  
  
Methos prompted the code breaker to hurry up and Duncan saw  
numbers freeze as others were still blinking through numbers. When all  
numbers were froze, the red light on the security pad turned green and  
Methos redeposited his toy in his bag. Duncan shook his head, "You  
must have more machinery in that bag than the CIA."  
  
Methos turned on the flashlight and said, "Just come on."  
  
Duncan grabbed the bag and they walked down the stairs to the lab  
Methos had taken photographs of. They all turned on flashlights, not  
wanting to turn on the overheads, even though it was underground.  
They could be on a timer, or if they were turned on, it could be noted  
somewhere. The beams from the flashlights shone on a variety of  
machines around the lab and Arthur looked them over. Duncan saw an  
imposing machine in the middle of the room surrounded by tables and  
work spaces ,"What's this?"  
  
Arthur said, "It's an X ray machine, or at least that's what it was  
manufactured for. Looks like they've turned it into something else, but I  
don't know what." He shone his light on the surface where a patient  
would lay to slide into the machine, and bent down to take a look at the  
exposed wiring.  
  
Methos was busy picking the lock on the door that caught his attention  
in the picture. The security on it was intense. He was ready for anything  
he might find that he would have to disarm. After the lock was open, he  
shone his light along the edge of the door and checked for any sort of  
trip wire or security pad. There wasn't any. He was somewhat  
disappointed by the lack of security, and wondered if there was  
anything to see after all. Shining the flashlight in the opening he  
discovered another set of stairs, metal stairs that reflected the beam  
onto the metal ceiling. Duncan motioned to Arthur to follow them  
down.   
  
When they hit the bottom step, the hair on Methos' neck stood on end,  
there was a very strong Immortal buzz. Duncan told him, "I thought I felt  
an Immortal this afternoon. But, it was from ground level."  
  
"What buzz?" Arthur said, he didn't feel one yet. It was only when they  
were half way down another hallway that he felt it. That was the first  
time he realized his sensation range wasn't as large as other Immortals  
and it gave him the willies. If he couldn't feel others until after they felt  
him, he could be in trouble. He'd never known that, but was also the first  
to admit that he hadn't taken a lot of heads. Great!, he muttered.  
There was something else to worry about.  
  
There was a line of unlocked doors along both sides of the long metallic  
hallway. Duncan and Methos took out their swords then they each  
opened one of the doors. A soft light automatically turned on inside the  
cubicle as the door was opened. Each cubical was only big enough to  
hold a 6 foot by 2 foot glass, liquid-filled, cylinder containing a man in a  
spandex suit floating inside. The men had tubes in their noses and  
mouths, with sensor pads attached to each temple, both hands, chest  
and feet. A large metallic disc the circumference of the cylinder held the  
men up by the neck.  
  
"They're still alive, they emit a buzz," Methos said. They all seethed, the  
men were immortal, and they were floating in cylinders like lab rats,  
which was exactly what they were. Arthur yanked open another door  
finding another man. All the doors were opened to reveal that each door  
led to another cubicle that contained an immortal, fourteen in all.  
  
"The main life support must be housed around here somewhere,"  
Arthur said. "We need to find that before we do anything."  
  
"Are they alive on their own, or do they need the machines?"  
  
"They're obviously getting air, food," Arthur said.   
  
Duncan asked, "Air? They're completely submerged."  
  
Methos said, "Mac, when mortals are in their mothers, they breath from  
the fluid. This must be the same idea."  
  
Arthur said, "God knows how long they've been there. Their sensor pads  
might register brain and nerve activity. We need to find the main life  
support to see what their condition is."  
  
Methos stared at one immortal, who's eyes were open, but weren't  
focused. "Let's get one out and see what happens."  
  
"We're not going to treat them like animals," Duncan said. "Let's look for  
the main support first to see what's being done to them."  
  
Arthur and Duncan went down the hall while Methos took pictures of  
the cylinder residences of the immortals. He wondered if the Watchers  
actually knew about this, if this was fully sanctioned, even encouraged.  
He hoped it was just a splinter group as Amy believed, and not the  
norm. A set up like this wasn't cheap, so the Watchers had to know  
about it.  
  
Arthur found the main support and checked over the myriad of  
monitors and read outs. "Yes, just as I thought. They're being fed  
intravenously and they're monitoring their nervous system, probably to  
see how the body reacts to the taking of, or injecting with, tissues and  
genes." He focused the flashlight over the various switches and saw a  
large red one under a glass cover.   
  
He took the gun out of his pocket and cracked the glass, making Duncan  
jump and ask, "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm setting them free," Arthur said as he pushed the red button.  
  
Methos stepped back when a siren bellowed twice and a heavy  
vibration shook the floor. He watched as the metal discs holding the  
immortals up folded into themselves, and the men sank to the bottom  
of the tubes. The liquid in the cylinders slowly drained out, and the  
immortals were left hunched over on the bottom, gravity flattening  
them.   
  
Methos shattered a cylinder with the hilt of his sword. Glass pebbles fell  
on the collapsed Immortal. He dragged him out and laid him on the  
hallway floor, pulled the tubes out of his mouth and nose and pulled off  
the sensors. Duncan did the same with another, Arthur took another.  
They only took enough time to push the fluid out of each man's lungs,  
then moved on to the next man. As each Immortal revived and coughed  
out the last remnants of fluid, they quickly caught the gist of what was  
going on and helped free others. Pretty soon, there were seventeen  
Immortals heading up the stairs to freedom.  
  
As they were rushing through the lab and up the next flight of steps to  
the warehouse, they heard a gunfight going on outside. Methos,  
Duncan and Arthur pulled their guns and, from their position behind  
the shooters that Joe and Gerald were having trouble with, easily took  
them out. One of the freed Immortals saw keys in the ignition of one of  
the black minivans just outside the door, and yelled out, "We can take  
their vans!"  
  
Men piled into both of them. Duncan told them to follow his car and he  
ran with Methos and Arthur to the T Bird. Joe and Gerald were good  
shots, and Gerald was more than excited to have taken out the bad guys,  
"Just like Clint Eastwood! Those bastards," he sputtered as they got into  
the car and sped away with the two vans sticking close to the car's back  
fender.  
  
Joe was looking out the back window of Duncan's car at the vans and  
asked, "Who are all those people?"  
  
"The merchandise," Methos seethed.  
  
Duncan drove them out of the city and parked on the side of a country  
road. All the men in the vans had been discussing their confinement and  
how they were all kidnaped. One became the spokesman from the first  
van. "I'm Dimitri," he said with a thick French accent as he shook  
Duncan's hand. "Are we really in the new millennium?"  
  
"Not quite, that's next year," Duncan smiled. "But it's the year 2000."  
  
"I was taken three years ago in Los Angeles," he told them.  
  
Another asked, "What in the hell were they doing to us?"  
  
Arthur asked, "How are you all feeling?"  
  
They all agreed that they were angry and a little hungry, but otherwise  
they felt fine. Methos suggested that Arthur stay with them to explain  
what they knew, answer any of their questions and get all of their  
names. Then he and Duncan had something to do.  
  
Duncan asked, "What?"  
  
Methos growled, "We have to pay a visit to the Watchers. We have plenty  
of evidence to confront them. Why do things in the dark any longer?"  
  
"I second that," Joe said.  
  
Duncan couldn't believe Methos was the one to suggest such a thing.  
"You're going to walk into Watcher headquarters?"  
  
"You bet your arse I am," Methos solemnly swore. "And I even know who  
I am going to confront with this."  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Dimitri asked, "What about us?"  
  
Duncan said, "Will you come with us, to appear in front of the Watchers  
as proof of what's going on?"  
  
"What are Watchers?"  
  
Another immortal spouted, "They're the ones who kidnaped us!"  
  
Joe didn't like the idea that there were suddenly fourteen Immortals out  
for blood. All Watchers weren't villains, Joe knew that for sure but he  
was mighty worried about the bloodlust that was taking over the  
conversation.  
  
Duncan stepped forward and calmed the Immortals, by saying, "Stay in  
town and it will all be explained to you in good time. It wasn't the  
Watchers as a whole that took you, but they *are* going to put a stop to  
what's going on. Please, don't fly off the handle. We have to stick  
together during this time."  
  
Arthur stopped Duncan, "I'll explain it, you go. My findings and all the  
evidence are in the trunk, be sure to bring that with you. I'll take care of  
everything here."  
  
Methos stepped forward providing money for them to get clothes, food  
and hotel rooms, and repeated the instruction to not leave town. They  
may be needed for proof. Duncan offered the use of the dojo as a  
meeting place for them.  
  
  
PARIS  
  
They immediately flew to Paris. The rest of the immortals agreed to stay  
in Seacouver, but Dimitri demanded to go with them as physical proof  
of the testing. Even though he was immortal, he still had puncture  
marks on his arms, behind his knees and on the back of his head from  
the tissue extraction. It made them wonder if he had been given mortal  
cells in exchange for Immortal ones thereby lessening his healing  
abilities.   
  
Duncan kept expecting Methos to change his mind and take off, but the  
old man was one determined Immortal. Joe had talked with Amy and  
told her everything that happened, insisting that she cover her butt for a  
little while and lay low. She told him that she would take a leave of  
absence and fly to Seacouver to help out Arthur with the Immortals. Her  
suggestion was turned down flat, with Joe telling her, "I don't want you  
anywhere near what we're going to do."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet, but I don't want you involved."  
  
At Orly airport, they rented a van to hold them, all the stolen vials, blood  
samples, the FAX and pictures and drove to Watcher Headquarters on  
the outskirts of Paris. They each carried a box and walked right in the  
front door.   
  
In the main artery of the building, they stopped in the secretarial pool  
that was surrounded by the offices of all the big wigs of the organization  
and let the workers look at them, and wonder why they were there,  
interrupting their secret activity. Methos cleared his throat and declared  
loudly, "My name is Adam Pierson."  
  
There were audible gasps, and Methos smiled, flattered actually, "I see  
that some of you remember me, and you should. I worked here for ten  
years as a researcher, and I would like to speak to Dr. Amy Zoll."  
  
A secretary, using the database, did a quick search on Pierson, Adam,  
and the opening screen of the Methos Chronicles popped up, along  
with a picture of the newly outed Methos, who had posed as Adam  
Pierson. Startled, she bolted out of her chair and stared at the oldest  
immortal, standing four feet away from her. Methos saw the monitor  
and winced. The picture was the one he had taken for a security badge  
more than a decade before. He vividly remembered having to pose for it,  
not wanting a photographic record of his face in case he would be found  
out. "That's not a good picture of me," he told her.  
  
The startled secretary mumbled, "He's really real," just before she  
fainted.  
  
The others only stood around and stared at the Immortal intruder,  
wondering if the others were like him. One man knelt down to wave a  
file in the face of the woman passed out on the floor. There was silence  
as everyone digested what was happening. They couldn't for the life of  
them figure out why the mythical Methos had made an appearance,  
there, at Headquarters, and had verified that Adam Pierson was in fact  
Methos.   
  
A man whispered to his companion, who ran down the hall. Methos  
knew his jig was up, he'd have to change his entire life as a result of   
coming out in the open, but there was a time and place for everything.  
Getting Barrymore and her work stopped was more important than a  
change of his current name and address.   
  
Dr. Amy Zoll slowly walked down the hall with the messenger and faced  
the Immortal she had ousted, but had never met face to face. She had  
assigned a team of three field workers to his case to make sure the wily  
Immortal didn't escape the Watcher radar again. She knew he knew  
what she looked like which ruled her out as his chronicler; he couldn't  
know who was following him.  
  
It was only after Zoll was comfortably in position before him that Methos  
again spoke, to her specifically, letting the others hear, "There are  
renegade Watchers on the loose." He motioned to Joe, Duncan and  
Dimitri. "We need to know that a scientist by the name of Clarissa  
Barrymore and her associates aren't being coddled by this organization.  
*That* is against the rules. *This*," he motioned to the boxes they'd  
brought in. "Is the evidence of her work. She's trying to perfect the  
process of making mortals Immortal."   
  
He let that sink in and had to admit, they all acted surprised. A man who  
looked important ran a search on the database on Clarissa Barrymore.   
Methos continued, "I'm the oldest one there is. My friends and I can  
continue to covertly uncover more clues. But I think that now it's your  
job. It's for *you* to clean up. Part of you started this madness, you *all*  
will get rid of it."   
  
Methos saw that the man searching on the database got the personnel  
screen for Dr. Barrymore. "You have a high clearance," he told him. "So  
I'll talk to you and Dr. Zoll. If you don't do anything about Barrymore, I'm  
going to gather my friends. After 5000 years, I've obtained many, and  
they're all not the patient or ethical sort like my very good friend,  
Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, here. Some aren't as smart as  
Arthur Pangent, who is trying to make sense of the evidence back in the  
states. My friends like to fight. They *live* to fight."  
  
Again, he let that sink in before continuing, "There's never been an all  
out war between Watchers and Immortals, and hopefully, there never  
will be. But hear me well, if you don't take care of this woman and the  
Omega Group and wipe out *all* evidence that they were *ever* in  
business, there will be war. If you've seen even a glimmer of my  
chronicle, you know that war is something I can wrap my head around."  
  
Methos pointed to Dimitri and pulled him front and center. "Three years  
age, this man was doing a vile thing, sketching some birds on a pad in a  
park in Los Angeles. He was kidnaped, drugged, put into a vat, and has  
been the subject of testing ever since, on Watcher property." Methos  
turned Dimitri around to show the evidence on his head and neck,  
Dimitri pulled up his pants legs and sleeves to show the rest of their  
work. All Watchers stared at the wounds, some were sickened at the  
rainbow of colors of the scars.  
  
"We'll be watching you. You have two weeks to deliver Clarissa  
Barrymore and all her research to us, to close all the 'nursing homes'  
around the world, and we *do* know where they are, and no more will  
be opened. It all stops now, or there will be war.  
  
"These are the rules," Methos continued, "Joe Dawson and his daughter,  
Amy Thomas, will have unlimited access to the process of collecting the  
evidence that you have and overseeing you shut down all the facilities.  
James Tucker and Sinclair Holloway," he said, then specifically told the  
man on the computer, "H-O-L-L-O-W-A-Y," then to the rest, "are AWOL.  
You find them."  
  
Duncan didn't want him to have all the fun, so he pulled out a handgun  
and pointed it at Dr. Zoll. "In the meantime, we'll make Dr. Zoll our  
comfortable guest for the duration."  
  
"What? I'm not going anywhere," she insisted.  
  
Dimitri laid a forcible hand on her arm. Methos continued, "You have  
two weeks, no longer. Dawson and Thomas will be monitoring your  
progress, they are to be treated with the utmost respect and will be  
unharmed. The nursing homes, Barrymore, Tucker, Holloway, and all  
their workers, all their science, are to be turned over to a location  
Dawson and Thomas decide. It will all be destroyed in front of us, all  
mortals and immortals still in captivity will be freed, their names  
provided to us. With all that done, we'll both go our own way and forget  
this ever happened. But, if anything goes wrong, Zoll is dead and you'll  
be seeing more of us Immortals, when you least expect it, just before  
you are wiped out. Don't think you're better at it than we are. You aren't.  
You may have big guns, and you may have an attitude, but we've been  
doing it longer than you have. A lot longer."  
  
Joe Dawson told them, "The new guy... Preston Agnew. He just took over  
the Watchers. We need to see him now. We have contracts made up and  
we need his signature."  
  
Zoll humphed, "And who heads the Immortals?"  
  
Methos walked to her, stood nose to nose, "I do."  
  
"You?" she laughed. "You're scared of your own shadow."  
  
He looked into her eyes, and she saw the years of practice he'd had in far  
more darker endeavors than escaping Watchers. She bit her lip and  
stepped back, no longer comfortable. The man at the computer stood,  
and said, "On behalf of everyone here, and I'm sure Mr. Agnew will  
agree, we're more than surprised by this turn of events. If you'll just give  
us time to research to see what in the hell you're talking about..."  
  
"He told you what we're talking about," Duncan said. "Clarissa  
Barrymore's work that was made possible by Watchers is against the  
rules, against your precious Oath you hold so dear!" When he saw  
Methos slight smile the one he would use when the Highlander would  
get riled up, he calmed his voice and said, "Give us Agnew for a  
discussion and then get on with cleaning it up. Now!" he thrust the gun  
into Zoll's side and for the first time, she was downright scared.  
  
"There isn't such a thing going on," she protested. "We're not like that.  
We don't want to become *you*."  
  
"There are others who disagree with you, lady," Dimitri said as he shoved  
his tested on arm in front of her face. "Did I do this to myself?"  
  
A man who exuded authority, along with a group of men who could  
only have been his guards, walked down the hall to join them in the  
secretarial pool and quickly thrust out his hand to Methos, who was  
definitely in charge, "I'm Preston Agnew. I've heard everything that was  
said."  
  
Methos looked up at the ceiling in the far right corner, remembering  
that there were security cameras all over the building. He said, "I guess I  
should have smiled for Allen Funt."  
  
Preston saw the hard demeanor of Methos' face, but had to reason with  
them, "I have admit, I find it hard to believe. Let us go through what  
evidence you've procured, and we'll talk in my office."  
  
  
TWO WEEKS LATER  
  
Arthur's days had been full pouring over the research as new items and  
files were turned over piecemeal by the Watchers. What they had was  
amazing. Methos saw the glimmer in his eye and told him in no  
uncertain terms, "Don't get any bright ideas about continuing that  
research."  
  
Arthur was insulted, "No way! I want it destroyed." Then, he shook his  
head, he had to admire her work, "It's amazing what progress she made  
in so little time."  
  
Meanwhile, Amy and Joe had been informed of each 'nursing home'  
closing as it happened and they had gone to each one, to ensure that it  
was, indeed, destroyed. Initially, Amy was concerned at being front and  
center in the cleanup, she was worried that she'd have a price to pay for  
her part in the discovery, hacking into their computer system and  
working alongside Immortals. But the main man, the head honcho,  
Preston Agnew, had a meeting with her to say that he would turn the  
blind eye to her deeds. He was grateful that they were being given the  
opportunity to clean the poison out of the Watcher system.  
  
Amy liked Agnew from their first meeting. He'd traveled a long road to  
be the head of the entire Watcher Organization, and he deserved to be  
at the top. Twenty years earlier, he'd been the editor of a county  
newspaper when there were reports of a sword fight on the outskirts of  
his back water Wisconsin town. Since it was such a small community, he  
was also the reporter and went to check it out, meeting up with a  
Watcher, who tried to convince him that the fight was a figment of their  
imagination. After a little investigating, he found out the truth about  
Immortality. Since he was a reporter at heart, he followed the Watcher,  
and got the whole scoop. He was brought into the Watcher  
Organization with the mind set that it was a great thing, that it served a  
higher purpose, that Immortals should be coveted, protected, along  
with being diligently recorded.  
  
He began as a Field Watcher, moved up to supervisor for an area that  
started on his home ground, then included all of Wisconsin, then all of  
the upper Mid West. Later he became a ranking officer with the  
American Bureau, then for the North American continent. He had only  
recently been assigned the highest office, main overseer of the entire  
Watcher Network, working out of the Paris Bureau.   
  
Preston had always known there were renegades, knew they probably  
still existed in some form or another, The hunters always haunted his  
thoughts. But he was floored to discover such an elaborate, heinous  
activity went on right under the Watchers' noses. The control methods  
used for such a wide spread organization as the Watchers had to be  
updated. Over the thousands of years that the Watchers had existed,  
there had never been a true, consistent method of doing things. The  
process of inputting information on Immortals and their Watchers on  
the database was piecemeal at best. The entire system had to be  
completely overhauled and he swore to the Immortals holding some of  
his people hostage that it would be. Loopholes that allowed illegal  
activity would be closed. The people responsible for allowing the  
scientific activity of Barrymore, Tucker and Holloway to exist would be  
executed along with the perpetrators.   
  
When he read the paragraph requesting their termination in the  
contract the Immortals had him sign, he endorsed their executions fully.  
The Watchers had been given a bad rap, and the few Immortals who  
found out about them were scared. That's not at all what he had  
envisioned. He didn't want the Immortals to know of their existence,  
they couldn't, or Watchers would be vulnerable to immortal renegades,  
that Methos and Duncan had to admit were out there. "This will be  
taken care of swiftly, but quietly, it can't be shared with your friends, and  
the Immortals involved must be sworn to secrecy," he told them in his  
office.  
  
Methos smiled, "Then you have an added incentive to do just that. If you  
don't, we can't be held accountable for what happens."  
  
"But if it did get out," Preston warned, "and news of the Watchers is  
spread throughout the Immortal world, we'll have to retaliate against  
you."  
  
"It's a vicious circle," Methos smirked.  
  
A warrant for their capture was 'Red Alert' in the Watcher system,  
meaning anyone finding Barrymore, Tucker or Holloway had the  
authority to shoot them on sight, and deliver the corpse to  
Headquarters for validation of their deaths. All who worked with the  
renegade three would be brought in, broken by interrogation, and  
depending on their involvement in the mess, punished. Even though  
the top three had still not been found, Agnew swore to them that they  
would be, if it was the last thing he did in this life. "I hope to pull the  
trigger myself," he convincingly said. "It's deplorable."   
  
Joe had only met with Agnew briefly, at a convention where he  
addressed them as new CEO of the Watchers, before his retirement for  
the world of the blues, but was glad to shake the man's hand. Joe  
believed him, and that was good enough for Duncan, Methos and  
Arthur.  
  
In front of the Rockefeller Street Warehouse that had been turned into  
the clearing house for all the research, Agnew and MacLeod stood as  
surrogates for each side of the conflict. Agnew said, "We're turning over  
everything we found. We want this stopped as much as you do." He  
looked at each of the fourteen Immortals who had been their prisoner  
and promised, "This will never happen again. On behalf of the Watcher  
Organization, we are deeply sorry. The science is yours to do with as you  
wish. James Tucker and Sinclair Holloway have been found, and their  
corpses are in the Mexican Bureau for you to identify. Clarissa Barrymore  
is a renegade, who will be found and taken out. That, I assure you."  
  
Amy got chills. When she joined the Watchers, she envisioned them to  
be historical chroniclers of Immortals on the planet, a quiet organization,  
the existence of which was known neither to mortals nor Immortals. She  
assumed that the organization would consist of men and women the  
caliber of Joe Dawson, Gerald Nedemeier and Preston Agnew. Maybe,  
hopefully, now it would be.  
  
Agnew bowed his head and had to admit, "We have no knowledge of  
Clarissa Barrymore's location. She was thrown out of the Watchers five  
years ago, without a pension." He had to admit, "With our sloppy  
accounting system, which will be overhauled, we don't even have an  
updated address in her file. But, everything she has ever worked on  
during her time with the Watchers that we've found is here for your  
disposal. We don't want that research, that's why she was kicked out in  
the first place."  
  
The Immortals looked to Arthur, who acknowledged that it looked to be  
complete. There was a lot of evidence turned over. He said, "I don't know  
if it's everything, and I still can't figure out her science, but I haven't  
found that the Watchers have held anything back. All of them have been  
completely open throughout this whole undertaking."  
  
Then Mac told Agnew, "Remember this, if we ever have even a glimmer  
of an idea that Watchers are doing anything other than watching and  
recording any one of us, there will be a war that will not stop until one  
side is extinct."  
  
With the final agreement that, if anything more was found by Watchers,  
Amy Thomas would be the first to know about it, and when Clarissa  
Barrymore was found, she would be held so Immortals could decide her  
punishment, the warehouse containing all the science and paperwork  
was ceremoniously burned.  
  
Out of all the evidence provided by the Watchers, the only thing Arthur  
decided to keep was a listing of all the people, mortal and Immortal, who  
were ever tested and who were still alive. Arthur knew what his  
immediate future plans were, to look up each person to see what their  
condition was, and make sure the Watchers compensated them and  
their families in any way they could.  
  
For the time being, there was no war. The Watchers once again faded  
into the woodwork, the Immortals went back to their lives. Amy and  
Arthur took it upon themselves to look up all the people tested  
everywhere in the world, at the Watchers expense. To their  
mortification, a lot of them were dead of disease or suicide. All the  
people under the age of 20 that were used for testing were dead.   
  
The ones they found alive were given a blood test by Arthur, who found  
the same cells in their blood, in various stages of progression, as Gerald  
and Joe had. Some of them exhibited signs of an instant healing ability,  
some didn't, none had experienced anything like a death and revival.  
None of them emitted an Immortal buzz. All Amy and Arthur could do  
was hope that Clarissa hadn't figured out how to make Artificial  
Immortality a reality, but what a price to pay for failure.  
  
Methos stuck around his old stomping grounds, using his old alias, just  
for a while, to see what would happen. He was always on alert to his  
surroundings and anyone that might be following him. Duncan hadn't  
had any luck in finding Barrymore. Her house had been sold, through  
the name of a non-existent corporation. Duncan met with Arthur and  
Amy and they rechecked the massive list of names they had been  
working on visiting. On one of the back pages that Arthur and Amy  
hadn't gotten to yet, one name stuck out like a sore thumb. Martina  
Barry, a corruption of Clarissa Barrymore's ex husband's name.  
  
  
BARRY HOUSE  
  
After rounding up Methos and Joe, Duncan, Amy and Arthur walked to  
the front door of an unimpressive house on the outskirts of the city, on  
what looked like a farm. The only thing outstanding about the property  
was it's privacy. The house was certainly not large enough to keep the  
experiments going in, and the only other building on the property,  
surrounded by trees, was a dilapidated chicken coop. The barn lay in  
shambles seemingly having collapsed under it's own weight. They had  
parked the van down the road and walked through the woods to the  
property, and hadn't come across security of any sort. Methos and  
Duncan thought the owner was just another victim, not the  
troublemaker that they were hoping to find.  
  
Amy knocked on the door, and they were astounded to see Martin  
Barrymore himself open the door. Duncan pushed through before he  
man tried to close it on them when he saw who was there. The  
Highlander took great delight in shoving Barrymore against the wall  
with his forearm firmly under Martin's chin. His pleas for mercy were  
chocked off as the pressure Duncan applied became stronger with every  
passing minute.  
  
"Well, well, well," Methos sneered at him, "look who we have here!"  
  
"I didn't..." Martin tried to say.  
  
"I believe I'll be able to use the infallible technique of water torture after  
all," Methos smiled, as Arthur and Amy began to walk through the  
house.  
  
Joe finally urged Duncan to loosen his grip on the man before he killed  
him. Methos pulled an easy chair out from against the wall and Duncan  
tossed the man on it, then set his hands on each arm of the chair and  
hovered over Martin as he gasped for breath."Where is she?"  
  
"W-Who?"  
  
Duncan slapped him, hard, across the face, an action which gave Methos  
the chills. He knew that Duncan, like himself, had just been waiting for  
the opportunity to beat someone up, anyone who had a hand in the  
Eureka Project.  
  
Martin held his hand to his cheek and defensively blocked Duncan's fist  
from making contact with him again. "Please! I don't know--."  
  
Methos leaned over Duncan's shoulder to tell Barrymore, "Do you really  
think I was born yesterday? We were fools to let you go before, but no  
longer!"  
  
"What is all the shouting about?" Amy asked as she and Arthur  
reappeared in the living room.   
  
Arthur told them, "This is just a house, fellas. There isn't any medical  
equipment or supplies here. The only questionable thing is there are a  
lot of beds set up in the basement."  
  
"What for?" Duncan asked Martin. "Guinea pigs, or her troops?"  
  
"I didn't..." Martin cried out. "I didn't want any of this."  
  
Methos was ready to go to the kitchen and fill a water glass and gleefully  
walked back into the living room. That's was when he, Duncan, then  
Arthur felt an approaching immortal buzz. The front door opened, and  
Clarissa Barrymore walked in, shocked to see they had company. Backing  
out, she yelled, "Quickly!"  
  
Before they could react, three men burst in behind her as she made a  
fast exit. They fired automatics at the occupants as if they were facing a  
firing squad. With only a second to think, Methos saw that Joe was right  
next to him, and he turned to cover him. When bullets embedded in his  
back, they both fell to the floor. Arthur pushed Amy into the kitchen,  
and fell. Duncan collapsed atop Martin on the easy chair, the bullets  
going through them both.  
  
In seconds, the guns were emptied, smoke filled the living room and  
drifted out of the broken front window. The men kicked each of the  
corpses to see if any were still alive, and pulled Duncan off Martin,  
letting him fall. Satisfied they had cleaned the property, they ran back  
outside and saw that Clarissa was already in the driver's seat with the  
engine running.  
  
The men climbed in and she sped them away from the scene. One man  
told her, "I'm sorry, ma'am. Martin was one of them."  
  
She turned onto the highway and shrugged, "Oh well. We'll have to find  
a new place."  
  
Inside the house, Amy shrieked when she trudged back into the living  
room after all the noise had faded. The only sound was loose pieces of  
plaster falling from the ceiling. All her friends, along with her father,  
were lying in bloody heaps where they had fallen. She saw Joe's silver  
hair poking out from under Methos sleeve. She rushed to them and  
lifted Methos' arm to see Joe staring up at her, he gave a relieved sigh  
that it was her, and not one of the shooters.   
  
Amy gently slid Methos's body off Joe and leaned down to kiss his  
cheek, grateful he had been spared, "Are you all right?"  
  
"I don't think so," he croaked, blood seeping out of his mouth.  
  
"Oh, my God!" Amy pushed Methos all the way off him to see he had  
been shot in the stomach. "Dad," she wailed.  
  
He grabbed her hand and held it as tight as he could, whispering with  
his last breath, "You step back from this. Promise me. I don't want you  
hurt."  
  
She brushed back his hair and shook her head, stepping away from  
punishing Barrymore wasn't a possibility at all. He lifted his head, which  
only caused him pain and yelled, "Amy, you have to live!" She laid him  
back down, held her hand to his gun shot wound, and kept shaking her  
head.  
  
"Dad," she told him. "Just hang on. I have to call an..." She lifted her hand  
to see that the vast amount of blood on Joe wasn't coming only from  
him. A line of it dripped from her hand. She inspected herself and saw  
the bullet wound on herself but still didn't feel it from the rushing  
adrenaline.   
  
Joe groaned an unearthly wail when he saw the red gathering on Amy's  
white shirt, just below her collarbone. "You're hit..." were his last words.  
Joe's head fell back his eyes, still filled with outrage, as he died.  
  
"No, Dad!" She yelled, then started CPR on him, only she had no  
strength. She cried as she collapsed on top of him, knowing her father  
was dead and she was soon to join him. Her hand shoved against  
Methos' face as he revived.   
  
It only took a second to check them over and see that there was still  
hope for saving Amy. He felt a pulse but she wasn't breathing. He  
started CPR on her. As Duncan revived. Methos yelled at him as he sat  
up, "Call an ambulance!"   
  
Duncan stared at Joe's corpse, then at Methos pumping on Amy's chest.  
"Joe..."  
  
"He's dead, MacLeod. Those bastards killed him! Call an ambulance!"  
  
Arthur had revived by the kitchen door and saw the carnage, had heard  
the order and said, "I'll do it." He saw the phone on the end table by  
Martin's easy chair and pulled the cord. It flew into his lap, and he  
punched 9-1-1.  
  
Duncan straightened Amy's head and laid a hand on Joe's still chest,  
"He's gone. He's gone. I don't believe it! With all he's been through, all  
he's overcome, he gets taken out by an ambush?"  
  
"Help me here," Methos said, just before blowing air into Amy's mouth.  
Arthur gave the address to the operator, then hung up when she asked  
for his name. He crawled over to them and used his coat to sop up some  
of the blood on her wound as Methos once again started compressing  
her chest.   
  
Duncan shut Joe's eyes and said a prayer for his soul. Arthur grabbed  
Amy's wrist to feel for her pulse. Methos again blew into her mouth, and  
felt her exhale. He checked her chest, she was once again breathing.  
"Her pulse is weak," Arthur said. "But she's back with us."  
  
They turned her over to drain the blood that started collecting in her  
mouth. Duncan grabbed an afghan from the couch and laid it over Joe  
as they heard approaching sirens. Methos saw Joe's new right leg laying  
before him, his pant leg was hiked up. He pulled down the trouser leg as  
he said, "They're coming for her. We can't be here when they arrive."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere", Duncan said, hovering over Amy.  
  
Methos felt her neck, and her weak, but steady pulse. "She'll live until  
they arrive, they'll be here in minutes. They can't see blood and bullet  
holes on our clothes with no wounds when they get here. Come on!"  
  
Duncan sat back on his heels and looked at Arthur. "Has the bleeding  
stopped?"  
  
"No, but they're almost here, let's go," Arthur said. "She'll make it."  
  
Methos saw Joe's hand poking out from under the afghan and took it, to  
have a second of silence for his dead friend. He wiped away stinging  
tears that dripped down his face and stood, still holding Joe's hand, not  
wanting to leave him, but had to. He knelt down to lay Joe's hand under  
the afghan, when they all heard a loud and deep inhalation of air. The  
afghan moved. Joe's hand lifted and hovered in the air. Methos yanked  
the afghan off his friend as Joe coughed with new air in his lungs.  
  
The sirens were close. Without pausing to reflect on how it happened,  
Duncan rushed to pick up Joe's left shoulder, Methos took his right, and  
they carried him out the back door that Arthur held open. They went out  
the back and into the woods as the EMT workers entered through the  
front door and immediately provided medical care for Amy.  
  
Duncan and Methos set Joe into the back seat of the T Bird and Methos  
sat next to him. Arthur got into the front with Duncan who sped them  
away. Joe was in a trance, staring at his hands. Methos put his hand on  
Joe's head, ruffled his hair. "Welcome back, Joe," he said with a huge  
smile, relieved that he was still in the land of the living.  
  
Joe flipped his hand away, and looked down at the bullet wound right  
smack dab in the middle of his stomach. He lifted his shirt to see no  
entry wound, only dried blood on his skin. He was stunned, speechless.   
  
Arthur turned around and sat with his knees on the seat and looked at  
Joe, alive. "So, she was able to accomplish it. But I don't understand..." he  
mumbled, almost to himself. "You didn't heal when I cut you."  
  
As Duncan turned onto the freeway, Joe muttered, "I'm an  
abomination."  
  
Duncan jerked his head around and snapped, "Don't ever say that! That's  
Hunter talk."  
  
"I didn't want this," Joe moaned. "I didn't want to be one of you. I don't  
want all the pain and frustration for the rest of my life, guys. I've had it."  
  
"There's joy, too," Methos offered.  
  
"I've had that too. I see what you guys go through. I don't want it." He  
cried out as Methos put his arm around his shoulders. Joe pushed him  
away and looked out his side window, "What about Amy? Where is she?"  
  
Methos told him, "She's on the way to the hospital."  
  
"I gotta go to her! Why did you take me out of there?"  
  
"They couldn't see you."  
  
Arthur had a thought and lightly asked, "Mr. Dawson?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't feel an Immortal buzz from you, are you sure you revived from a  
first death?"  
  
"Do you see a ghost?" Methos spouted. "He did, we all saw it!" He looked  
at Joe, and realized that he didn't feel anything emitting from Joe except  
friendship. "There *isn't*a buzz from you, there should be."   
  
When Joe lightly laughed, Methos asked, "What's so funny?"   
  
"I always wondered what buzzes felt like, but now..." His laugh turned  
dark, frustrated, "Now I still don't know."  
  
"Artificial Immortality..." Duncan mused as he drove through the city,  
nicely under the speed limit so they wouldn't be stopped by cops  
needing to fill their allotment of speeding tickets. "We'll go to your place  
so you can change, Joe, then I'll bring you to the hospital to see Amy."  
  
  
HOSPITAL  
  
After everyone changed into Joe's clothes, not wanting to take the time  
to go to each of their places, the four of them walked right to the  
information desk to see where Amy was, praying she was still alive.  
Arthur had called four different hospitals before finding out that this  
was the hospital that she had been taken to. The desk clerk told them  
that she was in surgery and pointed out where the waiting room was.  
  
As they sat alone in the family room waiting for word on Amy, drinking  
stale coffee from styrofoam cups and watching CNN Business News on  
the TV attached to the upper corner of the room, Methos couldn't help  
but giggle. Then it turned into a full fledged laugh. "What in the hell is  
so amusing," Joe snapped, his voice laden with anger.  
  
"Look at us," Methos motioned to Duncan and himself. Joe's clothes  
were too small, too short for them. Neither man ever remembered  
wearing anything as poorly fitted. A female doctor wearing surgical  
scrubs and taking off her face mask walked in to ask, "Mr. Dawson?"  
  
Joe bolted out of his chair and cringed at the blood on her shirt, "That's  
me. How is she?"  
  
"I'm Dr. Madison, I performed the operation on Ms. Thomas."  
  
"How is she?" As he shook her hand.  
  
"She made it, Mr. Dawson," the doctor enjoyed telling him. "She  
experienced a lot of blood loss and the bullet punctured her left lung,  
and it collapsed. We had to reset her collarbone. The first night after an  
operation is the touchiest, we'll be able to tell more about her prognosis  
in the morning, but I'm confident that she's going to be just fine."  
  
Joe collapsed against the doctor, hugging her, "Thank you!" When he  
pulled away from her, he was embarrassed, but she took it in stride.  
"When can I see her?"  
  
"Just let her sleep off the anesthetic, stay here and we'll let you know  
when you can see her."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Madison. Thank you so much."  
  
"My pleasure, Mr. Dawson," she smiled. "We'll let you know when she  
wakes up. Enjoy more of our fabulous coffee in the meantime."  
  
After she left, there were relieved hugs all around, Joe sat back down  
and said a silent prayer of thanks. Then he realized what he was going to  
have to deal with in his own life. "I guess I'm going to need a teacher."  
  
"You have one," Duncan quickly said.  
  
"But how long could I possibly last?"  
  
"A long time," Methos said.   
  
"Well, how do you figure that, oh wise one," Joe said, rubbing his  
artificial legs.  
  
"Since we can't feel your buzz, no one else will either. If you don't  
advertize the fact that you're immortal, no one will have a clue, until 100  
years from now when you still look the same."  
  
Joe shook his head, and looked at the floor. "But I didn't heal when you  
cut me, Arthur."  
  
"You sure did when you were shot," he said. "I don't know the reason for  
it, Mr. Dawson. The research is gone. You're a new anomaly."  
  
"Anomaly..." Joe didn't take that well, but who was he to argue? He  
looked at Methos, "How long are you going to stick around?"  
  
"Until I know Amy is all right. Then I'm leaving."  
  
Mac asked, "Why?"  
  
"I have something I need to do."  
  
"Cover your tracks? Head out of Dodge? Change your name again?"  
  
"Something like that." Methos figured they didn't need to know what he  
had planned.  
  
  
SIX MONTHS LATER  
  
Methos hadn't been heard from by anyone. Zoll and her team of  
watchers were at a loss as to where he had gone or what his new  
identity was. Agnew didn't reprimand her for losing track of him, only  
made sure that she and her team were still looking. He told her, "Just  
work on fixing his chronicle. That's all we can do. He'll turn up one day."  
  
  
VANCOUVER  
  
Clarissa Barrymore turned off the hall light and brought her cup of tea  
into her bedroom on the second floor of her new, expansive house.  
Noticing the time on her watch, she was pleased about the full,  
productive day she had, getting her laboratory set up in the mountains  
surrounding the city. She had been able to salvage most of her notes,  
some of her scientist's equipment, or devised new, more efficient ones  
after the Watchers and those pesky Immortals had confiscated her  
important work. There was no one who could ever bring her down. She  
had a mission. The lucky few who could afford her injections for the  
fountain of youth would make her richer than Bill Gates, the Queen of  
England and the Sultan of Brunei put together. It would only be a matter  
of time before all the kinks were worked out.   
  
As she reclined on her silk upholstered lounge chair with her tea  
flipping on CNN, she felt a tightening of her muscles, the tingling of her  
nerve endings, the dizziness in her head, that only signaled one thing,  
an Immortal was nearby. Her first thought was that one of her  
imprisoned Immortals had freed himself, she jumped up and ran to her  
closet to take out a sword she had fashioned for herself after the tests  
had made her fully Immortal.  
  
Just as she turned from the closet with her rapier, she saw a tall, lanky,  
pissed off man holding a bronze Ivanhoe tightly in his grip saunter into  
her bedroom and sneer, "Clarissa Barrymore, I presume."  
  
She swung her sword, hitting only air.  
  
"Now, who taught you how to use that thing?" Methos mocked her with  
pure, unadulterated glee.  
  
She swung again, "Stay away from me!" Methos planted his feet, and  
when he held his own sword high behind his head, she yelled, "This is  
holy ground! You can't fight here!"  
  
"Nice try," he smiled.  
  
She quickly spit out, "I bought an old church and renovated it. I live on  
holy ground, so you can't kill me here!"  
  
Methos knew that she would do such a thing, but if the building had  
been turned into a residential home, it was no longer classified as  
anointed land, but he decided to have some fun anyway. He grabbed  
her arm and easily relieved her of the sword she held onto for dear life.  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clicked at her, shaking his head, tossing her sword on  
the bed.   
  
She pushed at him, only to cut her hand on his blade. She howled in  
pain, clutched her hand and looked at Methos with dread. He politely  
smiled at her, "That wasn't my fault. But this is."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"This." He lifted her up and threw her out the bedroom window. She  
tumbled off the gable, as he climbed out after her. She laid in the back  
yard with a broken leg. When he climbed down the trellis and walked  
toward her, his mind was filled with the image of the innocents her  
deeds had killed. Her manipulation of the natural order of things burned  
his blood.  
  
He reached down and took a handful of her highly styled and sprayed  
hair and walked on, further into her fenced in back yard, dragging her  
along behind him as she howled in pain. He dropped her head but she  
didn't defend herself, she only rolled away from him.   
  
He called to her, "Are you going to fight, or are you going to just lay  
there."  
  
"I will not fight," she choked back the pain from her broken leg and the  
cuts all over her body from the shattered window, not healing yet.  
  
"Fine," Methos waited, then got riled up when he saw the sparks of  
immortal healing take over her body. He raised his sword high and  
yelled, "Welcome to the club, lady!" It only took one swing for her head  
to separate from her body and roll across the grass. Her quickening was  
only a little mist and a few sparks, definitely nothing to write home  
about. But, she had devised a way for it to almost happen, and created  
the new Joe Dawson, Gerald Nedemeier and only her God knew who  
else.   
  
He headed back to his rental car. The evening's events had not even  
caused a stir in her neighborhood. A dog lifted his head from the porch  
where he laid for the night, but didn't make a sound. Methos called Joe  
on his cell as he started the engine. "It's done," he told him.  
  
Joe immediately recognized his friend's voice, and was pleased to hear  
it, but was confused. "What is? Do you know it's four in the morning?"  
  
"Yes. And it's done. It's all over. I'll be setting fire to her new lab in about  
45 minutes."  
  
"Barrymore?" Joe asked as he leaned up on his elbow in bed.  
  
"She's no longer an issue. I'll see you later. I have to disappear for a  
while."  
  
"You've been gone for six months, Adam... is that still your name."  
  
"It's not. And I have to be gone longer than six months. I'll see ya, buddy.  
I have confidence in saying that now. You take care."  
  
"I will," Joe said, but not in time, Methos had hung up. He replaced the  
receiver in its cradle and laid back on the bed. It was all over. All traces of  
Barrymore and her work were through. The Watchers were under new,  
good management. He and Amy were looked upon with esteem high  
up in the Watcher organization. The Watchers would only watch and  
record, and be friendly only to those immortals who knew of their  
existence. The new Dawson-Thomas codicil to the Watcher Oath also  
pleased Joe immensely. It stated that if an immortal you were watching  
was on the wrong end of an unfair fight, Watchers were bound by duty  
to stop the fight by any means necessary to let their immortal get away.  
  
Preston Agnew didn't have a problem with the idea that Duncan, Arthur  
and Methos were a Watcher's friends, just so they wouldn't let out the  
secret. Any and all members of the Organization who broke their Oath,  
or ever tried to walk the paths Barrymore, Horton or any other renegade  
walked, would meet with instant death. Even with those lapses in the  
old code, secrecy was still an unbreakable oath that must be kept.  
  
Joe turned off the lamp, but found it hard to go back to sleep. Staring up  
at the ceiling, he realized he was living a good life. He had his daughter,  
his amazing legs, time to appreciate them, a job he no longer had to  
defend or explain, and very good friends who were still standing by him.  
  
THE END  
  



End file.
